


Violet / Violent

by oyhumbug



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Drama, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Romance, Seventeen Years Since Tara Left Charming, Smut, alternative history, other characters referenced
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyhumbug/pseuds/oyhumbug
Summary: Only one thing could bring Tara Knowles back to Charming, California: love.





	1. Part I - A

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Flashbacks are in italics - most of which are featured in the beginning of this story. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> Charlynn

**Violet / Violent**

**Part I**

**A.**

She almost became a neurosurgeon.

Before deciding on neonatal, Tara had been fascinated by the brain – still was, really. It was just... amazing – the way the mind worked. From personality, to emotions, to the different ways that people learned, the brain was the ultimate puzzle, the ultimate mystery – especially memory: how it reflected what was most important to an individual, how it could be manipulated, how it could be so limited yet so vast and always slightly different with each and every person. Her own ability to recall was no different.

Too anxious to think of anything else yet too early to go to her interview, Tara drove around Charming, marveling at how little the deceptively sleepy hamlet had changed since she left all those years ago. It had been more than sixteen years since Tara had stepped foot in the town where she had been born and raised. The streets, the shops, the school, the neighborhoods – they should have seemed distant and foreign, but it was just the opposite; they were too close, too familiar. Every landmark was a memory, a landmine just waiting to detonate the life she had carefully constructed far, far away from everything that, in Tara's mind and heart, Charming stood for.

Try as Tara might, there were times when she could recall very little about her own mother. She'd close her eyes and try to hear her voice again, catch a whiff of her perfume – that signature scent that should have screamed this is home, this is security, this is love. Didn't all mothers have that smell? But when Tara thought back to her childhood, to those eight years she had with her mother before she died, she couldn't remember anything. It was just... blank – no lingering trace of the woman who had given her life. And eight years was sufficient time to develop an entire glossary of memories – bits and pieces she should have been able to pick back up and savor years, a decade, a lifetime later, but Grace Knowles was nothing more than a few snapshots and a heart full of regrets for her daughter. This pained Tara to admit – made her sad, yet, as a doctor, especially one who, for a brief time, had studied the human brain so intimately, wasn't a surprise.

It had been her first year as a surgical intern when Tara contemplated and then quickly dismissed the idea of becoming a neurosurgeon. She had latched onto the specialty at first because of its level of difficulty, its rockstar status. Always wanting to prove herself, always needing to be the best, it had made sense, combined with her interest in the brain, to pursue neurosurgery, but then, one day, she was hours and elbows deep into an operation to repair some drunk's head injury after he got loaded and then decided it was a good idea to drive, resulting in not only his own trauma but the loss of innocent lives.

She had been taught that all life had value, that doctors and surgeons did no harm, that it wasn't up to her conscience just her skills to determine who lived and who died, but, as she stared down at the alcoholic on that surgical table, Tara had been repulsed. Maybe it was because it hit too close to home – her own father a raging drunk who had constantly put others at risk by getting behind the wheel while completely blitzed, but Tara had just... checked out. She did what she was told, and performed adequately, but then and there Tara decided that she wasn't meant for neurosurgery. She couldn't break her own back to save the lives of those unworthy.

Rationally, she knew that as a human being, as a woman, as a doctor, she had no business making that decision – who deserved to live and who deserved to die, and, in thinking that way, she was a hypocrite. Those thoughts made her no better than the men and women she was judging and finding lacking. At the same time, however, Tara hadn't sacrificed so much and worked too hard to fix broken people who would just go back out and hurt themselves – and others – all over again – drunks like her father; druggies like Lowell's deadbeat and abusive father; thieves, rapists, and killers – criminals – like the man she had loved so completely, so obsessively, so blindly more than sixteen years ago.

Because, while Tara couldn't remember her own mother, there wasn't a single moment that she had spent with Jackson Teller that she couldn't recall without startling clarity. That's why Charming still seemed too vibrant and alive to her, because it pulsed with his presence. As soon as she stepped foot back in town, she had felt him there with her, beside her – a ghost from her past more palpable than anyone physically in her present, awaiting her in the future. The streets were places where she walked with him, rode with him; the shops were places they used to go together; the school where they met; the neighborhoods where they had spent the majority of their time – either locked away in her small, childhood bedroom or roaming his much larger and ultimately nicer home when his mother and step-father weren't around.

As Tara found herself bringing her car to a gradual, coasting stop and then turning off the engine, she laughed at herself – scoffed, actually, for the gesture held not even a single trace of humor. She could have gone anywhere while she killed time before her appointment: the park to enjoy some fresh air after being cooped up inside a vehicle for so long while on her way back to the place she, quite frankly, had started to believe she'd never see again; a coffee shop for a cup of soothing tea – it wouldn't be a Starbucks – after all, this was Charming: the anti-establishment oasis for small business owners, but she still possessed a nostalgic streak which appreciated those things and people that went against the grain – proof that old habits didn't just die hard; they lingered even after their reason for existing faded into oblivion; her own family home... not that Tara had family left living there... or the graveyard that her parents now occupied. Instead, though, she went to  _ his  _ family home – a glutton for punishment, apparently.

_ Her toes were cold. Despite the fact that, seemingly like always, it was a cloudless, sun shining day outside – California in all its 75 degrees with no humidity glory; despite the fact that she and Jax had just had sex and she was now wrapped up in his sheets, her toes were cold. Jax, on the other hand, was perfectly content and comfortable, unabashedly naked – his body lounged on its side along the width of his bed. She sat before him, wondering if he'd let her get away with temporarily borrowing a pair of his socks without teasing her too much. Everyone knew the expression 'cold hands, warm heart,' but it was Tara's feet which always made her shiver, and Jax's rendition of the idiom wasn't nearly as clean cut and sweet. Of all the things she could have been thinking about, though, in that moment.... _

_ “Give me those,” Jax half scolded, half begged her as he startled Tara out her own musings, his fiery hands landing upon her ankles to jerk her legs, which had been folded and pulled in tight so that she could lean against her upraised knees, towards him. Before she could react or even ask what he was doing, Jax threw her a smirk and then slipped the majority of her feet underneath his torso – his skin always hot to touch and reflecting the raging inferno of energy, and emotion, and vitality that lurked just underneath Jax's cool and composed facade of blasé disregard. In pleasure, Tara wiggled her toes, noting how, though he tried to hide the reaction, Jax squirmed slightly. She could feel his ribs moving below his skin. She smiled. _

_ The gesture must not have made it to her eyes, though, because Jax frowned. For a few minutes, however, he didn't say anything, and she allowed the silence to settle heavily upon them. Quite frankly, Tara didn't want to talk... which was a role reversal in their relationship. Usually, she was always the one who insisted upon them using actual words and not just their bodies to express their feelings, but she didn't know how to put into words the emotions that were bombarding her to the point of distraction that afternoon, and she certainly didn't have any idea where Jax's mind was at. He was obviously stewing over something as well – his brow buried, his gaze trained upon his never idle hands. Whether Jax was toying with the club rings he now wore, tumbling a cigarette between his fingers before lighting up, or touching her – always touching her, inevitably touching her, he was never perfectly still, always in movement. Sometimes, and that moment was no different as Jax casually ran his hands past the delicate joint of her ankles and then up and down her calves – each lap bringing his touch just that much higher, closer, further, Tara found herself wondering if the constant fidgeting was subconscious – something Jax wasn't even aware of. _

_ “I am sorry, you know.” She looked up, caught off guard both by his words and the sudden intrusion of sound upon their quiet. “It's not that the idea doesn't appeal – just you, and me, and the endless possibilities that leaving could give us. The world is our oyster and all that shit.” Tara watched as Jax looked up, finally met her eyes, shook his still damp hair – damp from his exertion while they were having sex just a few minutes prior – out of his face. “But I don't want endless possibilities, Babe; I just want you, and the club. But I want you to have all those opportunities... if that's what you want.” _

_ “Jax, where is this coming from?” _

_ She used to talk all the time about the two of them leaving town together – about school, and her dreams, and about becoming a doctor – a surgeon. She'd tell him that she could see him doing all these different things – becoming an author, a counselor, a private investigator – each and every suggestion met with self-doubt and disbelief that cut Tara far worse than every barb and insult that had been flung at her because of her own less-than-encouraging background. But then Jax had patched into the club, and she stopped talking about the colleges she wanted to attend; she stopped suggesting when the best time for them to move away might be. Despite all her hints, and planning, and suggestions, Tara had decided that she wouldn't ask Jax to leave with her, because she didn't think she could handle him saying no. Not now. _

_ But Jax didn't answer her question. Instead, he just lifted a brow in pointed response, his expression challenging but in a soft, even indulgent way. “I haven't said anything about school or leaving in months.” _

_ Jax sat up, propping his left elbow against the mattress so he could lean his jaw and chin against his own palm. “Babe, I'm not oblivious. I notice things; I notice you.” Involuntarily, Tara felt her breathing start to increase – her chest falling rapidly yet shallowly beneath the sheet still wrapped around her shoulders. “I  _ know  _ you. Something's wrong; something's been weighing on you now for a while. You've been upset about something. Melancholic.” Her boyfriend – high school dropout and Samcro's newest member – used words like melancholic, but he still believed he was destined for a life of crime, still thought that he couldn't be anything else, anything more, than his father before him. It made Tara sad, and bitter, and angry – at him, for him. “This is about college, isn't it?” In a rush of relief, Tara exhaled loudly, her entire body seemingly sinking just that much further into the bed behind and below her. “I knew it.” _

_ He really didn't, but she couldn't tell Jax that. Not yet. “It's okay.” _

_ Tara wanted away from this conversation, so she gave Jax an easy out, but he refused to take it. “No, it's not, Tara. Just because I can't leave doesn't mean that you shouldn't.” She startled, already pulling away from him when Jax seemed to realize how what he had said sounded and what her reaction to his words must have been. “No, that's not... I just mean that you should still go to school, Tara. Maybe it won't be San Diego, or Philadelphia, or Baltimore, but it'll still be pre-med; it'll still be you doing what you want – accomplishing your dreams, and we can still be together.” _

_ Before she could respond, he rushed on, sitting up. “You could commute, or we could get a place somewhere between Charming and... wherever it is that you decide to go to school. Hell, you could even live on campus if you wanted to, and I'd just sneak into your dorm room every night.” At the thought of doing something he wasn't supposed to, that mischievous gleam Tara recognized so easily and loved so much found its way into Jax's crisp blue eyes. She just knew that his idea of college had suddenly morphed into one that more closely resembled an all-girls boarding school – Tara wearing a cute, little uniform, living under a curfew, and boys being absolutely forbidden from campus. Of course Jax's idea of dorm life would look like a porn film. _

_ “I'll think about it,” she told him only to immediately incite his protests. However, before Jax could say anything else, Tara continued, “we're not going to solve anything right now. You're leaving soon to go on a run, and, frankly, I'm surprised that you want to spend our last few minutes together talking.” To emphasize her words, Tara slowly spread her knees apart, allowing her legs to fall and stretch open, Jax instinctively taking the movement as the invitation it was and settling between them, against her – his sheet still the only thing keeping them from skin on skin contact. It was wrong – using sex to avoid their conversation, to distract him, but she and Jax always worked when they were having sex. _

_ That was a part of the problem. _

_ In what seemed like a blink of an eye, Jax had the sheet pulled down to her waist, flipped them both over so that she was now on top, and then kicked the sheet completely off Tara's body before rolling them back over so that he could hover above her. Apparently pleased with himself, Jax offered her a cocky, self-satisfied smile that was far more charming than it should have been. He was still cradled by her thighs, his hands clenched into loose fists on either side of her head as he braced his weight against his forearms. Shifting so that his right hand was free, Jax surprised Tara when he simply spread his palm and laid it low against her abdomen, his fingers spread to reach from one side of her pelvic bone to the other. _

_ “Come with me,” he whispered. Suddenly shy and unsure, his gaze dropped from her face to her chest – the tips of her breasts already aroused and puckered in anticipation, in recollection, in awareness. “Or follow us up, I guess.” He shrugged, shot her a crooked, half grin. “We'll rent a hotel room, and I'll meet up with you when I can get away.” Jax finally met her eyes again, unblinkingly confessing, “I don't want to be without you... even for a few days.” The sincerity behind his words made Tara's toes curl. She dug them into the mattress and moaned slightly, her hips involuntarily lifting off the bed. Jax smirked. _

_ But then the hand that rested between them dropped further down her body, and he became serious with intent. “I don't want to be without this,” he confessed, sliding not one but two fingers inside of her waiting heat. There was no prompting, no foreplay, but she was ready for him nonetheless. Sometimes, Tara thought that she was  _ always  _ ready for him. Just as quickly as his touch had found her, it disappeared, and then he was slithering the length of his body down her own until he was resting on his knees before her, his face coming to lean against a bare thigh. “Or this.” His hot breath was moist against her folds, he nipped her clit once, and then Tara felt him invade her body once again – this time with his tongue. Just as before, though, one second he was there, and then, the next, he wasn't – leaving her restless with need, and want, and impatience. Hands found purchase on her hips, and Tara fluttered her eyes open just in time to watch the pride and possessiveness wash across Jax's face when, with one single, powerful thrust, he pushed home inside of her. “Or this,” he moaned, bringing his face down upon her chest and then rolling his neck to the side so that his mouth could greedily latch onto the soft, sensitive flesh of her right breast. _

_ Despite what he asked of her, they both knew it wasn't possible – she couldn't go with him; she couldn't follow him on his run so that the two of them could sneak off and get a hotel room together. Maybe her father wouldn't notice... or care, for that matter, but Clay would flip, and Jax always tried to keep her away from that side – that ugly, dangerous side – of his step-father and club president. _

_ Tara was nearly lost to the haze that was Jax loving her, pleasuring her, when a fist came down upon his bedroom door. Or perhaps it was a stiletto heeled foot. Tara startled – jumping and tensing, though Jax refused to allow her to completely leave the moment. With a pace that never lost its rhythm, he continued to surge inside of her all-too-welcoming body only to pull back and out and repeat the movement over, and over, and over again. “Jax,” his mother called. Shouted. Tara could hear the impatience and insolence dripping from Gemma's tone. “It's time to go. Now. Clay's waiting.” _

_ “Thirty minutes,” Jax grunted. _

_ “Now, Jackson!” _

_ “Twenty,” he tried to bargain, but, evidently, his mother was having none of that. _

_ “Get your dick out of Tara and your ass out of that bed before I come in there and drag you out of this house.” It didn't matter how long Tara was around Jax, and his family, and the club, she couldn't get used to the crass way that Gemma Teller-Morrow spoke... not only to her but  _ about  _ her. It disgusted Tara. _

_ Either not taking the threat seriously or just not caring, Jax replied, “door's locked, mom.” _

_ “And I'll fucking break it down if I have to,” Gemma yelled back. “My house, my rules, my god damn door, Jackson. Now, let's  _ go _!” _

_ Tara watched as a stubborn streak of determination flashed across her boyfriend's features. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, her body was still very much in the moment, flying quickly towards the release Jax was intent upon giving them both. He lifted his head, set his jaw – his teeth gritting together. The cords of his neck strained, and she at first fought the urge to lift her mouth up and bite against the straining ropes but then followed his lead and said to hell with it. As her lips latched against his throat, one of Jax's hands – his thumb, to be precise – found that little bundle of nerves between her thighs that only he knew so intimately, providing her with that push she needed to climax. Her orgasm triggered his own, and then Jax was collapsing on top of her – his heaviness of weight and warmth familiar and welcome. Tara loved these moments right after the two of them had sex. It was when she always felt the closest to Jax. _

_ He wasn't resting against her for even a full minute before Gemma was banging on his bedroom door again. Swearing harshly, Jax pushed himself up and off of her, climbing out of bed. While Tara desperately searched for something to cover her body with, Jax, ever so cavalier with his nudity and their sex life... even in front of his mother, just wrenched the door open – their combined juices from their releases still coating Jax's now softened cock. Finally settling on just diving for the opposite side of the bed and rolling off of it to crouch upon the floor, Tara hid herself just in time. _

_ “You really want me to go... like this,” Jax asked his mother – one arm lifted to brace against the now wide open door, while the other just laid casually by his side. _

_ Gemma shook her head in disgust, yet there was an almost amused smirk upon her lips at the same time. For the life of her, Tara knew that she would  _ never  _ understand Jax's relationship with his mother. “You're a goddamn prick, Jackson.” Turning her back on her son, Gemma started to walk away. “Five minutes.” _

_ Before she could disappear however, it was Jax who was stopping her from leaving. He grabbed the first thing he could find... which turned out to be a pillow... and held it against his lower body before following his mom out into the hallway. With a backwards glance at Tara who was watching him over the edge of the bed with obvious confusion, he called out, “hey, mom, wait.” Gemma paused, crossing her arms over her chest in silent inquiry. “Will you... just look after Tara for me while I'm gone?” Tara winced as she heard her boyfriend's request. For some reason, he just couldn't understand... or didn't want to understand... the very precarious truce she and Gemma managed to get by on with each other most of the time. If they were lucky. “It's just... well, we're fine, but something's been bothering her lately, and it'll make leaving on this run easier for me if I knew someone was....” _

_ Mercifully interrupting him, Gemma agreed, “of course, baby,” while lifting a hand to pat her son's rough with shadow and scruff cheek. “Now, get your ass dressed and outside before I change my mind and make you – and your pillow – leave as you are.” With a wink and a smirk, Gemma was gone. _

_ While watching the unfortunate scene play out between mother and son, Tara had managed to find some of her clothes, wiggling them on while still hiding behind Jax's bed, so, by the time he turned around and kicked the door shut behind him, her shirt was in place, her panties back on, and Tara was standing to shimmy her way into her jeans. Luckily, Jax was distracted by rushing around and trying to right his own appearance – cleaning himself off the best he could before jumping into his own discarded clothes. _

_ “I really wish you wouldn't have done that,” Tara stated, refusing to look up. Instead, she busied herself with tossing his unkept blankets back on his perpetually unmade bed and bending over to dig one of her shoes out from underneath the mattress. “I'm fine. I don't need your mother... poking around in my life.” _

_ “She's not going to poke around,” Jax refuted. Still keeping her gaze diverted, she listened as he tossed things into a small duffle bag. “She's just going to be here for you if you need her while I'm gone. I wasn't just blowing smoke up her ass, Babe, to smooth things over.” And then Jax was  _ right there _ , hands lifting to cup her face and pull her close. “You know I hate going on these runs. Leaving you. It'll give me peace of mind to know that there's someone here for you when I can't be.” She wanted to say that, no matter what she had promised her son, Gemma would never be there for Tara; she wanted to point out that this was exactly why he shouldn't be going on a run, why he shouldn't even be in Samcro; she wanted to demand to know who was going to watch out for him when she couldn't? But Tara didn't utter a word. Instead, she let Jax kiss her. At first, it was just a peck, but, since the very first time he had kissed her, Jax had never been satisfied with just a mere brushing together of their lips, and, as always, he quickly deepened the embrace until the point that it became all consuming – her annoyance, and worries, and very ability to think evaporating. When he finally pulled away, Jax was smiling widely. “I love you,” he told her, placing one last, hard and fast kiss against her mouth. “See you soon.” And then he ran out of the room, leaving before she could even return the sentiment. _

_ It was several minutes after Tara heard the roar of Jax's motorcycle flare to life and then peel away when Gemma rejoined her. Tara was sitting on the edge of Jax's bed, bent over and tying one of her tennis shoes when the older woman arrived in the doorway, leaning casually against the jam. “You know, I feel sorry for your daddy.” There were a lot of people who felt a lot of things for Tara's father, but sorry was not one of them. _

_ She knew that she shouldn't engage with Gemma, knew that she didn't want to engage with her, but Tara was also aware of the fact that Jax's mother wouldn't let her leave until... whatever it was that she wanted to have out was had. “And why's that, Gemma?” _

_ “Because not only did he get stuck with his only child being a daughter, but she turned out to be such an ungrateful whore.” _

_ Standing up, Tara sighed. Her heart was never behind these little battles with Gemma – especially not now, but she couldn't back down and not fight with her. If she didn't hold her own, then Gemma would walk all over her. “I've only been with one man. That does not make me a whore.” _

_ “Fine. Then you're a slut who gave it up before marriage. That's still not something a father can be proud of.” _

_ Tara snorted in disbelief, rolling her eyes. “I've seen your wedding photos, Gemma.” _

_ Hands on hips, the other woman demanded, “what's that supposed to mean?” _

_ Brushing by Jax's mother, Tara shook her head incredulously. “Glass houses, Gemma.” She continued walking down the hall, through the dining room and kitchen, and out the door without once turning around to see if Gemma was following her or listening to hear what pointed barb was next shot in her direction. _

She had long since memorized every bone, every muscle, every ligament, and tendon, and nerve in the human body. Tara was a veritable encyclopedia of medical knowledge. She had a mind for recalling random trivia, and song lyrics, and quotes. And, maybe she couldn't recall even a single clear memory of her mother, but not a second of her time with Jax had faded over the more than sixteen years that they'd been apart... and certainly not the very last time she had seen the only boy – man – she had ever loved. As Tara started her car back up, she swore that she could practically see her nineteen year old self running out of the Teller-Morrow house – so much younger, so much more naïve. Although the image of that girl faded as she drove away, the feelings she inspired did not, and, now, she was on her way to an interview at St. Thomas – an interview that  _ everything  _ hinged upon at a hospital that held even more memories for Tara... memories that she wasn't sure she was ready to confront.

Ready or not, though....


	2. Part I - B

**Part I**

**B.**

The longer her meeting with St. Thomas' administrator went on – and that's exactly what it was: a meeting, not an interview as Tara had been anticipating, the worse she felt. Six weeks earlier, Tara had absolutely no intention of leaving Chicago, of moving back to Charming. But things changed, and she was doing what she had to. St. Thomas had posted an opening for a general trauma surgeon. It wasn't her specialty; it wasn't what she was board certified as, but Tara had been more than qualified for the position, applying out of necessity and not interest. As she had expected, St. Thomas Hospital had jumped at the opportunity to have a doctor of her qualifications and repute work for them, so she had picked up her life and moved back to California, already knowing that the hiring process was just a formality.

It wasn't conceit; it was just fact.

Plus, even if St. Thomas didn't hire her... for whatever reason, Tara would have found something else, anything else nearby, to make things work. She needed a job. She needed an excuse to be there, a way to support herself. Charming wasn't nearly as expensive as Chicago, but Tara had moved home far from being burden free. St. Thomas was just a means to an end for her. She had no real ambition to make it a legitimate rung on her climb up her chosen profession's ladder and absolutely no intention of staying there any longer than what was necessary. But here Margaret Murphy sat with her, bending over backwards to accommodate Tara's accomplishments and aspirations, creating a completely new position for her, and shaping the entire future of the hospital around Tara's willingness to live and work in Charming. It was surreal, flattering, and it made the situation just that much worse, especially since she couldn't say a damn thing to discourage the administrator.

Margaret Murphy... and St. Thomas' board... didn't just want Tara as a general trauma surgeon; they wanted her to create a brand new department which focused on full and total care for mother and child from the point of conception, to labor and delivery, and then throughout childhood. As its founder and chief, Tara would not only be able to continue practicing neonatal surgery, but she'd put to use her dual certification in pediatrics, and the hospital was not only going to encourage her to continue her studies but also pay for her to become further certified in other, related specialties such as obstetrics and gynecology and even fertility. She'd be solely responsible for all of her department's staffing decisions, and the goal was eventually to become affiliated with a local med school, turning St. Thomas into a teaching hospital. It was ambitious, it was smart, it was actually something that intrigued her, and it was probably exactly what a town like Charming needed, but Tara would only be a part of it for as long as she had to be.

And she couldn't confide that truth in Margaret Murphy anymore than she could all the other details about her life that she was keeping secret.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Margaret reacted to Tara's silence, interpreting it as shock and not self-disgust. “I know it's not what you expected when you first applied with us. To be honest, we were surprised when a surgeon of your caliber submitted an application for a position well below her skill level. But people make career choices for reasons other than advancement all the time. Your reasons are just that: your reasons. They're private. I don't know why you decided to leave Chicago and your extremely successful career there, and, frankly, I don't care, because you're a  _ get _ , Doctor Knowles – one I never thought I'd ever have a chance at. With you, I can make St. Thomas something  _ more _ , something special, and that's what matters to me.”

The administrator's forthrightness only made Tara feel that much worse, because, while Margaret Murphy approached the situation with nothing but professionalism, Tara's own motivations were anything but. It made her respect the other woman, though, so she could only imagine how ugly things would become between them when Tara just up and left after she got what she wanted, what she needed, from Charming and was once more free of the suffocating, poisonous town. However, Tara refused to let anything throw her, anything provoke her into saying or revealing more than she should. Could. So, just as cool, just as collected, and just as detached, she told Margaret Murphy, “I have a stipulation.” Before the administrator could respond, she added, “and it's a deal breaker.”

“I'm sure, whatever it is, the hospital will do its best to accommodate you.”

“I need every Thursday off, no exceptions.” Weekends would have been less surprising, easier to explain, but everybody else went on the weekends, and Tara needed to maximize the little opportunity she had. As Margaret Murphy's brows furrowed in contemplation – obviously not expecting such a caveat, Tara further pressed, “and, when I'm off, I can't be on-call. It doesn't matter what type of emergency comes up, how short staffed the hospital is, or what happens. In fact, on my day off, I won't even be in town, and you'll be unable to reach me.”

For the first time since they had met, Margaret Murphy showed cracks in her confidence – both in herself and in Tara. “Doctor Knowles, are you... and I don't mean to pry... but are you in some kind of trouble? Is there something I should know, something I should be worried about in connection with the hospital?”

“I'm not in any trouble,” she reassured. And she told the truth, legally-speaking. “It's... personal.” And that's all she was going to offer in way of explanation.

Seemingly satisfied, Margaret Murphy stood up and smiled, though Tara noticed that the gesture did not warm the administrator's eyes like it had when the two women had first met just an hour before. “Good. I'll see to it that your paperwork is started as soon as possible.” Tara stood as well. As they shook hands, Margaret asked, “when would you like your first day to be? It'll take me a little while to get your office prepared – say, two weeks?”

“I'd like to start immediately.” The sooner she started, the sooner everything would be over. Plus, the distraction of work – of something she understood, and liked, and did so well – would be good for her; it would help Tara do everything else that was necessary. “And I don't need an office right away. As long as there are patients and a place for me to treat them, that's all I ask for.”

“Well, then, on that note,” and, apparently, that was Margaret Murphy's way of agreeing to Tara's proposal. “Let me show you around.”

Dutifully, she followed behind the hospital administrator as she showed Tara St. Thomas' all-too-familiar hallways, though, cosmetically, Tara had to admit that much had changed since she had last been there. In fact, Tara was pleasantly surprised by how up-to-date and modernized St. Thomas appeared to be. There were far more improvements than she expected to see, especially given Charming's size and less than stellar reputation of welcoming change and fresh blood. Tara wasn't sure how long Margaret Murphy had been working at St. Thomas, but their little tour did tell her one thing: this latest plan to better the hospital's reputation and rank, it's abilities, involving Tara was not the first project implemented by the administrator, and it wouldn't be her last either. Somehow this only made her feel both worse – because this revitalization was something Tara could support but would leave behind far before it was finished – and better, because, with or without Tara's help, Margaret Murphy was going to make St. Thomas a hospital to be reckoned with.

As they made their way through the building – starting with the first floor and the emergency room and slowly making their way upwards to the top floor which would be Tara's domain and featured the operating rooms, labor and delivery, the nursery, and the pediatrics department, Margaret pointed out each and every improvement that had been made to the hospital in recent years. She took everything in – made note of what was working and stockpiled some suggestions for future improvements. Tara also found herself curious as well. “St. Thomas is not affiliated with a larger network, and Charming's too small for the hospital to be pulling in that much of a profit. How has all of this been possible?”

“I have become very proficient at searching for, finding, applying, and then being awarded grants,” Margaret replied, a note of pride – and rightfully so – entering her voice. “Plus, during the past few years, we've started to receive some anonymous donations.” They both seemed to slow their steps simultaneously, coming to a gradual stop along a deserted hallway... in OB – one that Tara intimately recognized. “The benefactor has requested that the money be used to improve the care for premature and....”

_ “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. Does Jax know?” _

_ Rather than answer, Tara demanded, “what are you doing here, Gemma?” _

_ “My son asked me to keep an eye on you.” _

_ Tara started to walk away, but Gemma wrapped one long fingered hand around her right bicep and pulled her back around. Evidently, the older woman wanted them to have it out right there – right in the middle of a very public hallway at the local hospital. Very well then. Tara didn't like to fight with Gemma, and, frankly, she was in no mood – never was, but she also knew better. If she backed down now, she'd never earn Jax's mother's respect, and that seemed more important now than ever before. “I think we both know that he didn't intend for you to stalk me, Gemma.” _

_ “If you think this is stalking....” The threat went unfinished, but Tara knew that it wasn't empty. “Just be glad that I didn't come inside. I was tempted to, figured that'd be the only way I'd ever get a straight answer from that pretty, little lying mouth of yours.” _

_ Offended though she didn't want to be, Tara refuted, “I'm not the liar.” _

_ “Yet, of the two of us, you're the one who's not married and knocked up.” _

_ If Gemma wanted to fight dirty – if she wanted to insult Tara, then two could play that game. Smirking, Tara replied, “well, if that's all you're worried about, I'm sure Jax would gladly run off with me and get married as soon as he gets back from this run.” _

_ “You know that's not what I meant,” Gemma snapped. More accurately, it wasn't what she wanted either. “And you never answered my question: does Jax know?” _

_ Jerking her chin up another notch in false confidence, Tara admitted, “no, he doesn't. I haven't told him yet. I wanted to be sure first.” Apparently, four months sure. In her denial, in her fear, she had let the unplanned and certainly unwanted pregnancy go to the point where she couldn't do anything about it. Or maybe that was just one reason why Tara let it go so long, she wasn't sure. What she did know was that the idea of she and Jax raising a baby when they were still children themselves scared her frozen. Stupid. “And I'd appreciate it if you let me handle this, Gemma. Despite what I know you're thinking, this isn't any of your business. This is between me and Jax.” _

_ “And he's my son,” the older woman argued adamantly. “Of course this is my business; it's my  _ job _ to protect him, to make sure that he doesn't make the biggest mistake of his life.” _

_ “By doing what,” Tara wanted to know. “Having a child at nineteen or having a child with me?” _

_ Gemma's gaze narrowed dangerously. “I'm not dumb. I see what you're doing to him, how you're twisting him up inside, making him doubt himself. I know that you tried to get Jax to leave town with you. I know that you're making him feel guilty because he doesn't want to go to college and that's all your stuck-up, selfish....” _

_ Laughing humorlessly, bitterly, Tara interrupted, “so, now, I'm selfish because I want to make something of myself, because I want to be more than some biker's old lady? Well, excuse me, Gemma, if I don't want to become  _ you!”  _ Eyes wide with horror, she confessed, “that scares me even more than having a baby.” _

_ Gemma seemed to latch onto that last admission, surprisingly ignoring everything else Tara had said. “So, you admit that you're scared?” _

_ “I'm not dumb, too. Of course, I'm scared!” _

_ “Well, then, take care of it,” Gemma told her, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. “It's your body, your choice. If you don't want to be a teenage mother – if you don't want to be  _ some biker's  _ old lady, if you don't want to be me, then get rid of it. I won't stop you, and I won't tell Jax either. Get rid of it, go to school, make something of yourself.” _

_ “Just like that,” Tara questioned, her green eyes narrowing in doubt and suspicion. Snapping her fingers in emphasis, she repeated herself, “just like that? You'd be okay with me having an abortion?” _

_ “This is the 90's, Tara. Women do it all the time.” _

_ And, for once, the two of them finally agreed on something. It wasn't that Tara was against abortions; she was pro-choice. But this was her child, Jax's child. And, like she had been wondering before, perhaps this was why she had waited so long to confirm the pregnancy – because she knew what Gemma's reaction would be, and she knew that she wouldn't want to have an abortion, and, now, because of how far along she was, Gemma would have no say in Tara's decision either way. _

_ Still, she pressed the older woman further – really wanting to see just how deeply her hate ran, if it was more powerful than her ever-vocal and self-declared devotion to her son. “So, you'd... support me in killing Jax's daughter, your granddaughter?” _

_ And, as Gemma's eyes at first lit up and then the other woman smiled, Tara knew that she had made a miscalculation. She just didn't realize what exactly that was until Gemma pounced. “You trapped him.” _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ Stepping into her space, Gemma backed Tara up against the wall. Periodically, Tara would notice other people approach – doctors, nurses, patients, but everyone seemed to recognize Gemma, the Queen of Samcro, and dutifully steered clear, wanting neither the wrath of the club nor the wrath of the woman who controlled that club with a smile or a frown, with a hug or a quick, hard fuck. “You want to leave this town, me, the Sons, and you wanted my son to leave with you. When he wouldn't – when he chose his legacy over your pussy, you played the oldest trick in the book on him.” _

_ Defensively, Tara hissed, “I love Jax. I wouldn't do that to him.” _

_ “Maybe,” Gemma allowed, backing up slightly and shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe not. But it doesn't matter, because that's how Jax will see it.” _

_ “You're wrong,” she accused. And Gemma had no idea by how much either, because, while it had always been more of an abstract idea, marriage and children weren't things that were completely off Jax's radar. He had mentioned them to her – admitted that he wanted both, and with her, and not in many years from then either. In fact, Jax was downright adamant that, when he got married, it would be to Tara, and, when he became a father, she was the only woman he ever wanted to carry and have his children. The fact that Jax – Tara's carefree, rebel, badass of a biker boyfriend – was that committed to his relationship with her of all people would infuriate his mother. Normally, she would do or say just about anything to gain an edge on Gemma, but those private, personal moments when they were in bed together and discussing their future were too special to use as weapons; they were meant to stay just between the two of them, and that's exactly what Tara intended to do. So, instead, she just reiterated, “you're so wrong, Gemma.” _

_ “Am I really, Tara?” Before she could respond, Gemma continued, “it doesn't matter, though, because Jax isn't ready to be a father, and, if you force this on him, he'll just end up resenting you and, worse, resenting the kid. And you know, better than anyone else, what that's like – living with a dad who doesn't want you, doesn't love you, hates the very sight of you.” _

_ It was Tara's greatest weakness, her biggest fear, and Gemma knew that, wielding her words for maximum effect. And she knew it, too; Gemma knew right where to strike. Because, despite Tara's confidence in Jax and his love for her, the wounds inflicted by her own father over the years were still too fresh, too vulnerable, to be ignored. The idea of bringing a child into the world only to subject her to the same kind of childhood that Tara had been forced to endure was paralyzing. And that was all before Gemma went in for the kill. _

_ “Plus, she's just a daughter.” _

_ It was said like, somehow,  _ that  _ was Tara's fault – like she had... failed Jax in some way. Because he was a  _ Son _ , the only children who mattered were sons as well – heirs, the future generations who would carry on the illegal, tainted legacy left to Jax by his late father. Despite her insistence upon leaving town, Tara didn't hate everything about Samcro. As someone who grew up essentially without a family, she could see the appeal of choosing your own – brothers who would have your back, love you, protect you, be there no matter what. And many of the men were nice – misguided, rough around the edges, and crude at times, but, underneath their hard exteriors, some of the guys had hearts of gold. Like Opie, Bobby, and of course Jax. But it was a misogynistic world – one where she and her daughter would never quite belong, or be accepted, or wanted unless it was for what they could do for the club, and Tara didn't want to live like that; she didn't want her daughter to be subjected to that. _

_ “I don't like you,” Gemma astonished Tara by being so frank. “I've never made that secret, and I'm not going to start now just because you're pregnant with my grandchild. But I respect you.” At Tara's scoff and look of disbelief, Gemma emphasized, “I do! You're smart, you're independent, you don't take shit from anyone – not even me. So, don't do it now either. If you want to leave, if you want a better life for yourself, then go; do something about it.” _

_ “And the baby,” Tara asked. “Jax deserves to know that he's going to be a father.” _

_ “I'll tell him. When the time is right – when his head is on straight, and he's ready, and the news won't land him in a ditch on the side of the road somewhere with a bullet through his skull, I'll tell him.” _

_ That image alone was enough to make Tara shudder. She hadn't even thought of that – how the idea of becoming a father could worry and distract Jax to the point that she, in keeping the child and insisting that he keep it, too, could put him in danger. But the idea of doing this on her own, of leaving Jax.... “But I love him,” she whispered, staring forlornly at her still flat stomach. Any day now, it could pop, the doctor had told her. Suddenly, what Gemma thought, what Gemma wanted, that she was even there in the first place didn't matter. _

_ A startlingly gentle hand came to rest upon her left shoulder. “Then do right by him,” Gemma told her. “Sometimes, we have to do awful things for the people we love – things they might not like, or agree with, or even understand, but that's called being a woman, Tara; that’s called being a mother.” _

_ With tears she refused to shed swimming in her eyes, she looked up at the older woman across from her, “I can't just leave him, Gemma. I have to tell him... something.” _

_ “Then tell him it's about school. I think he's expecting it anyway.” With one last squeeze of her shoulder and a parting, shockingly sympathetic smile, Gemma turned around and left. _

_ For several moments, Tara just stood there in indecision, in resolution, in distraction. But she knew what she had to do. _

“Doctor Knowles – Tara, are you alright?”

“What,” she returned to the present, shook her head to clear away the cobwebs of the past. “Yes,” Tara stated, not waiting for Margaret Murphy to respond to her earlier question of confusion. “I'm sorry.” The query – in its simplicity and its ghost-life familiarity to a moment that had followed Gemma's departure all those years prior when a kindly, older nurse had approached Tara in similar concern – had rocked her back to the present. “I just.... Seeing everything here again after so long... it's just strange.” Tara laughed at her own understatement, and the hospital administrator's eyes widened to the point of pain, Margaret's bewilderment towards Tara's offhanded confession – of being from Charming – obvious. Needing to avoid any questions regarding her past, Tara once more brought up her stipulation. “And you're absolutely positive that my request to be off every Thursday will be approved?”

In lieu of answering, Margaret, instead, said, “let's go sign your contract. You can start tomorrow, Doctor Knowles.”

 


	3. Part I - C and D

**C.**

Ghosts.

They were the last things that Tara could handle at that point but all that she could see. So, she decided to confront them face-on, leaving the hospital and driving directly to Charming's one and only cemetery. She didn't head towards her own parents' graves, however. Tara had long since made peace with both her mother's death and her father's inability to parent. And it wasn't just after his wife's death that he failed Tara; her mother's presence had just somehow managed to soften his selfish edges. Instead, she went to see the final resting place of a man she barely knew yet one who had greatly influenced and shaped her life despite the fact that he died before she really entered the world he left behind.

Tara wasn't religious. She wasn't overly-sentimental either. She was a doctor. She believed in fact, in science, yet she wasn't immune to feelings, and emotions, and grief. There was just something about a graveyard that meant something to her. Although she confronted death on a daily basis... or maybe it was because she was so familiar with that moment when someone's life just... stopped, Tara didn't think there was anything more after a heart gave its last beat, a brain quit. So, as she came to stand in front of John Teller's tombstone, she didn't think that he was looking down upon her or that he could hear what she was about to say. Rather, the words, and regrets, and the confessions were solely for the person offering them, the cemetery a quiet, reflective place where someone could find that peace necessary to really confront one's demons. There was a sanctity there that had nothing to do with a higher power and everything to do with faith and trust in humanity instead.

“What would you have done if Jax or Thomas had been a girl?” The way that Jax had always talked about his old man, Tara would have thought that he had hung the moon. Instead, he was a misfit who bucked society and formed a motorcycle club who lived on the fringe and used crime to pay the bills. The Sons proclaimed themselves to be men of anarchy, yet they were governed by more rules – albeit different rules – than their non-MC neighbors. “Would you have showed favoritism? Would you have ignored your daughter in favor of an heir, or would you have realized that you were wrong – that your male dominated world was unbalanced and doomed because of it?” Leaving the obscure behind – the 'what if's' that really didn't matter, Tara posed a question that held validity. “How would you have reacted to a granddaughter?”

Tara started to apologize, “I'm sorry you never had the chance to know her, that Jax never...,” only to be distracted by another grave – a smaller grave, one with far less detail but just as much significance. Perhaps more. She was familiar with the cemetery's layout. She knew that, though John was buried with other fallen veterans, Thomas' tombstone was still located nearby. With thoughts of John Teller as a father, as a grandfather, lingering in her mind, Tara's gaze shifted to where she knew his second son, his younger son, was buried. Having come to the cemetery more than once with Jax while they were dating as teenagers, she'd stood before both John and Thomas Teller's graves plenty of times to have long since memorized their appearance, so Tara was caught off guard when she noticed someone newly buried next to Jax's little brother.

Leaving John's final resting place behind, Tara made her way towards Thomas' grave. Jax didn't visit his little brother nearly as often as he visited his father, yet, still, the loss had rocked him, making a lasting impression upon the first born son left behind by the second. Though Jax had never said as much out loud, she knew that Thomas' death had made Jax even more determined to carry on his father's legacy. Because Thomas couldn't, Jax had to... even if he didn't want to, which he did, but the significance of being the only one left to do so weighed heavily upon him nonetheless.

All those years ago, when she had left, Tara had believed Gemma to be too old and certainly not interested in having any more children, but perhaps she had been wrong. A change of life baby, maybe? Or one of Gemma's parents could have died since then, electing to return to the town where they had raised their children – buried one of them. Tara knew that, when Gemma had left her family behind – and that was putting it nicely, she did so under ill terms, but much could be forgiven in death, and Gemma claimed to always put her family first. If not another sibling, then perhaps one of Thomas' grandparents now filled the plot beside the little boy lost far too young. Yet, Tara didn't think that was it – either scenario running through her mind. She just... had a feeling....

“Abel Teller,” she breathed out, her voice catching as instant tears made her throat feel swollen with emotion, her eyes burn. Biting her bottom lip, she read the lone date listed on the stone: both the child's day of birth and death. Abel had died more than five years earlier. Although the tombstone didn't say anything else, Tara didn't need to be told that Abel was Jax's son; she just... knew.

It hurt. It hurt more than Tara had a right to be hurt by anything Jax did or didn't do. Besides her obvious sadness over the loss of an innocent life – one that she couldn't help but wonder if she could have saved if she had known about him, Tara found that she was bothered by the fact that, not only had Jax had another child, but he had conceived that child with someone else... which was ridiculous. Tara had been under absolutely no assumption or illusion that, after she left, Jax's life had just stopped. She knew that he would move on, that he'd be with other women, but, never in all the years since she had walked away from him, did she consider what it would feel like to know that he was a father to someone else's child. The realization made her nauseous, while, at the same time, she grieved over the idea of Jax losing yet someone else he loved. Reaching up to wipe absently at some fallen tears, Tara realized that this wasn't something she could just learn about and then accept. It was going to take her some time to process her feelings about Abel, and Jax, and....

“Holy shit,” a voice murmured from behind her, making Tara freeze. “I'd recognize that ass anywhere – spent enough time with it in front of me as it rode on the back of Jax's bike.  _ Tara Knowles _ .”

Of all the ghosts she could have been forced to confront that afternoon in Charming's graveyard, this was a happy one – her very own Casper. Slowly turning around, Tara sniffled, wiped her eyes one last time, and then offered the man across from her a genuine smile. “You haven't changed much either, Ope, though you are even hairier than I remember. I didn't think that was possible.” The burly man's beard was halfway down his chest, and his hair was perhaps longer than her own, though tied back. Lifting up on her tiptoes and trying in vain to wrap her arms around his massive shoulders, Tara hugged her old friend hello. “It's good to see you.” Pulling back, she added, “even if we are in a cemetery.”

“It's good to see you, too,” he returned, the corners of his lips twitching upwards with amusement and warmth. Nodding behind her, he said, “I see you've met Abel.” Tara didn't have time to react to that before Opie was looking further into the cemetery. “Donna's just down that way a little further.”

“Oh, god. I'm so sorry.” And she was. While Tara and Donna had never been good friends, she had always liked Opie's then girlfriend. She was sweet, and fiercely loyal, and the two of them together – Opie so big and imposing, and Donna so small and misleadingly fragile-looking – had been adorable. “When?”

“Just a few months after Abel, actually. It was a bad year.” That sounded like both an understatement and a confession that neither death was innocent nor peaceful. Yet, Tara didn't feel comfortable prying. Opie had always been a better listener than he was a talker. When he awkwardly shoved his hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans, Tara knew she had made the right decision not to press for more information. “I've made my peace with it, though. Moved on... as much as one can, I guess. And I have my kids.”

Brightening, she asked, “you have children?”

“A boy and a girl – Kenny and Ellie,” Opie answered. This time, his mouth made it into a full-fledged grin. “They'll be teenagers soon.”

“And you're still smiling, which means that they must be good kids. I'm happy for you, Ope.”

“What about you,” he inquired. Unfortunately, Tara knew they would eventually circle around to her life, but she'd much rather talk about Opie's... even if at times they were both uncomfortable because of his wife's death. Or, at least, she assumed Opie and Donna eventually married, especially since they had children together. “Are you in town for a reunion or something?” Because both he and Jax had dropped out, that wouldn't be something they were invited to attend. Before Tara could answer, however, Opie chuckled, “man, Jax is going to  _ flip  _ when he finds out you're back.”

Considering why and how she left and the fact that it had been almost seventeen years since they had seen one another, Tara assumed Jax would more than  _ flip _ . But that was something to worry about another day – soon but not yet. “Actually, I'm back for good.” If by good she meant until she got what she needed from Charming and then left again not even a second afterwards, then, yes, that wasn't a lie. “I accepted a position at St. Thomas – signed the contract today, in fact.”

Opie's eyebrows shot up towards his slicked back hairline. “Seriously?”

Tara shrugged, admitting something that wasn't necessarily untrue and certainly fit with what everyone in Charming thought of her. “The grass isn't always greener, Ope.” He was still shaking his head in disbelief, in shock. “If you wouldn't mind, could this... stay between just us for now?”

He frowned. “You don't want Jax to know that you're back?”

“I'm not here for Jax, Opie, but I'm not hiding from him either,” she reassured. “I just... need to get my shit together first, you know? It's been a long time....”

“More than sixteen years,” he surprised her by readily knowing just how long she had been away.

“ … and I'd like to get settled before I become unsettled once again.” When Opie still seemed hesitant to agree to Tara's request, she added, “plus, there's Gemma to consider.”

“Drama between you, Jax, and Gemma – feels like old times,” Opie teased her, laughing and relenting to her request. “Alright, I'll keep your secret. For now. But don't be a stranger, Knowles.”

“I work at the hospital, and you're still a Son,” Tara responded, nodding towards his kutte which was proudly on display. “I don't think that'll be a problem.” Waving as she walked past him, Tara said, “I'll see you around, Ope.”

If only seeing Jax again after so long could be that simple....

 

 

**D.**

“Next!”

Tara took a step forward, already reaching into her satchel to remove a pen, a credit card, and two forms of identification. Her bag was large, for she used it as a briefcase for work, too, but it was well-organized, so she located the items easily and quickly. Given her situation – the fact that she was at the post office in the first place because she was trying to maintain her privacy and security, Tara normally would have paid in untraceable cash, but this particular paper trail was yet another step in proving her commitment to the plan she had embarked upon by moving back to Charming. Without glancing up, she started to state her business for being there, “I'd like to get a...,” only to be interrupted.

“Well, if it isn't Tara Knowles.” At the sound of her own name, Tara slowly lifted her head, meeting the gaze of someone she assumed she knew from high school. Judging by the slightly acerbic, mocking tone, it was safe to say that they weren't friends. Perhaps the other woman didn't like Tara because she was the daughter of the town drunk, or maybe she had been one of the many who threw themselves at Jax much to his disinterest and Tara's displeasure, or she could have just disliked Tara because she'd never been the most social or friendly of people. Whatever the reason, Tara could no more place the postal worker's name than she could the reason for the obvious animosity. Because of this and because, frankly, she didn't care one way or another, Tara didn't respond. She just remained impassive, slowly blinking once in lazy, bored acknowledgment of the greeting. “I heard a rumor you were back in town.”

She refused to make small talk; she refused to satisfy any of the gossip or curiosity floating about Charming concerning her sudden and unexplained return. “Yes, and I'd like to get a PO Box, please.” Using the excuse of not wanting the hassle of her rental's former occupants' mail, Tara had asked St. Thomas' administrator if she could give the post office the hospital's address on her application for a box. Margaret Murphy had been more than accommodating... unlike the woman standing behind the counter.

“I thought your dad's place had a mailbox attached right to the side of the house?”

Only in Charming would such knowledge be commonplace and not suspicious. “I sold my father's house years ago. I'm currently renting at the moment. Now, about that PO Box...?”

While the woman slowly turned to locate the necessary form that Tara would need to fill out, she continued to talk. “I'm sure you're kicking yourself now for doing that – getting rid of your dad's house, but I guess you never thought you'd be back here either. What happened,” the postal worker queried, sliding the paperwork across the counter and smirking. “Ugly divorce?”

She knew she shouldn't care, she knew she shouldn't engage, but there was just something about the other woman's sheer smugness in her conviction that the only reason Tara would return to the town where she had been raised was if she was doing so in shame and disgrace – with her tail tucked between her legs, licking her wounds. “Actually, I've been hired to transform St. Thomas – turn it into one of the top facilities on the West Coast for women and children. My specialties are in neonatal and pediatric surgery, but I'll also be directing the hospital's development and creation of a program that will focus on obstetrics, gynecology, and fertility. It's an amazing opportunity... for Charming.” And also a complete sham, because the job was just happenstance; Tara was back for an entirely different and unrelated reason. But, as she watched the smirk of the woman she evidently went to high school with wither and die, the flare of satisfaction that shot through Tara made the lie – yet another one – worth it.

Pettily, the clerk snapped, “well, if this house you're renting is within our service area, I'm afraid you'll have to pay for your box.”

In response to that, Tara just waved her credit card, already at work in filling out her form. Ten minutes later, she left with the key to her box in hand, a three month lease paid for. If she was in Charming for more than three months – if the situation she found herself in hadn't yet been resolved after three months, Tara would have bigger issues at hand than the delivery of her mail. Replacing her pen, credit card, and two forms of identification, Tara left the post office, making a beeline for her awkwardly parked SUV and U-haul trailer. Just as she approached with keys in hand, a siren went off – the police cruiser's flashing lights making Tara's steps come to a screeching halt.

_ It was chaos. Madness. The scene was what every parent feared in relation to their child and school – the fleet of cop cars, swat vans, and law enforcement officials milling about the parking lot reminiscent of those horrible images seen too often on the news after yet another school shooting. Only, this time – thankfully, no parent would be burying their child. No weapon had been fired. Yet, despite the lack of violence, someone was hurt, and Tara was at a loss, because she didn't know what was happening... or why. Nothing made sense. _

_ Pushing and shoving her way through the crowd gathering about the high school's grounds, she searched the seemingly hundreds of bodies for the only face that mattered. Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe it was the shock of white-blond hair – poker straight and thick all the way down to the small of the slender teenager's back – swinging and jerking in protestation and struggle that caught her attention, but, whatever the reason, Tara felt both like crying and sighing in relief when she finally spotted her daughter. She was alive, and she was physically safe – hence, why Tara could have sighed, but the fact that she was practically being dragged kicking and screaming into the back of a cop car sent waves of panic and distress, fear and fury, through her blood so quickly, there was a moment when Tara feared she'd lose control. But she couldn't do that; she wouldn't. Natalie needed her – perhaps now more than she ever had before during her sixteen years of life. _

_ Just as a cop roughly put his hands on the back of her daughter's head – the gesture to force Natalie inside of the cruiser, Tara called out, “Natty!,” her large satchel falling from her grasp and getting lost somewhere in the shuffle as Tara ran as fast as she could towards her only child. _

_ At the sound of her nickname, Natalie looked up. Tara watched as her daughter's terrified features relaxed – like, now that her mom was there, everything was going to be alright. If only Tara was so confident.... “Mom!” _

_ By the time Tara reached Natalie's side, the police officers who had been handling her so roughly before had taken a step back in deference, but it was obvious that their reprieve wouldn't last for long. It was also then that Tara noticed for the first time that Natalie's hands were cuffed and behind her back. Unfortunately, it wasn't a foreign experience for Tara – to witness someone she loved restrained in manacles and being led away by law enforcement, but it was one that she had been determined to never see again when she had left home all those many years before... and certainly not with her daughter. _

_ “I didn't do it, Mom,” Natalie sobbed out. Tara didn't need to be told of her daughter's innocence; she had never doubted it, but to know that Natalie believed Tara needed reassurance nearly brought Tara to her knees. “I didn't do anything! I don't know what's going on. They won't tell me anything. They just busted into class, said I was under arrest, and then they cuffed me and pulled me out here. They said something about guns, Mom. I've... I've never even seen a gun in person before. I don't understand.... And my bike. You need to get my bike, please, Mom. Don't let them take it!” _

_ “It's okay, it's alright,” Tara tried to reassure her little girl. Lifting hands to frame her daughter's beautiful face – usually so pale and smooth but now an angry red from the tears still coursing down her raw, round cheeks. “I'll figure this out. This is all just a big misunderstanding, baby. I promise. I'll meet you down at the station, and we'll get this straightened out, okay?” _

_ “You need to step back now, Ma'am,” one of the officers told her, already moving forward to once more grasp Natalie by the arms as he steered her towards the open and waiting back door. “We need to take your daughter to booking.” _

_ “Wait, can you at least tell me the charges,” Tara demanded. When her daughter's school had called her at work earlier, they had been vague and condescending – like they had already accepted that Natalie was guilty of the things she was being accused of and that Tara should both be blamed for her daughter's actions and not surprised by the phone call. When there was no response, she yelled towards the backs of the two cops. “Nobody has told me anything!” _

_ One ignored her, slamming the door shut behind Natalie and moving around the cruiser to the driver's side, while the other only turned around to address Tara after he had his own passenger door open. “You should really talk to the agent in charge of the case.” _

_ Before Tara could react, the door closed with a bang after the retreating officer climbed in, the car pulling away seconds later. “Agent...?,” Tara whispered to herself, spinning around on the soles of her boots to face the school, and the students, and the teachers and staff, and the other parents, and all of the various law enforcement officers still making a scene. This might have still been Chicago, but it was the suburbs – a safe, affluent neighborhood with an excellent school system and families who didn't have single moms with private, secret pasts and daughters who were pulled out of Trig class on criminal charges. Until every last drop of drama was analyzed and absorbed, no one was going anywhere, and Tara didn't know where to go for answers or what to do next to help her daughter. _

_ But then she saw him – casually leaning against an unmarked sedan, arms folded across his chest in satisfied smugness. “You,” she screamed, already launching herself across the parking lot. Although he had managed to stand up straight by the time she shoved him back against the car door, the way he stumbled slightly after impact told Tara that he hadn't been expecting her physical attack. Well, too fucking bad! “You did this! You did this to my daughter!” _

_ “Jacqueline Natalie's father is to blame for this  _ Tara _ , not me,” Agent Joshua Kohn said smoothly, softly. He had a cheshire grin lifting the angles of his face, and Tara just wanted to knock it off with her fist. When several officers approached – probably with the intention of cuffing her as well, he nodded them off. “This is Jackson Nathaniel Teller's fault, but I will make this all go away for the both of you if you just do something for me in return.” _

_ Tara backed away, wanting nothing more than to go and wash her hands. She felt tainted after touching Kohn... even if it was with the intention of hurting him. Stifling a sob of anxiety with a roar of animosity, she charged, “You goddamn bastard; you sick son of a bitch!” Pointing in Kohn's direction and leveling him with her iciest glare, she threatened, “you won't get away with this! You're not doing this to my little girl! I won't let you.” _

_ But he already had. _

_ Not waiting for a response, Tara spun around and jogged blindly towards where she had parked earlier. Somehow, she managed to find the presence of mind to pick up her bag, but her hands were shaking, and she could barely see through the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. She was barely hanging on, because, despite her bravado and threats towards Kohn, Tara had no idea what she was going to do. Without even having to ask, she knew that Natalie wouldn't just be processed and then released into Tara's custody. Hell, knowing what a sadistic creep Kohn was, her daughter was undoubtedly going to be charged as an adult, denied even a chance for bail, and then sent to a federal prison to await trial... or the outcome of whatever game it was Kohn was playing with their lives. _

_ Out of breath – not from exertion but from emotion, Tara had to double over at the waist and lean her head between her legs as she tried to regain her composure. Distantly, she realized that her SUV was still running – that, in her haste to reach Natalie, she had left the car on, her driver's side door haphazardly shoved open. Climbing up inside of the vehicle, it was only by sheer force of habit that she remembered to put on her seatbelt, that she was able to put the vehicle into gear and somehow pull out of the parking lot. Tara realized, once she was on the road, that she wasn't even sure which precinct she needed to go to in order to find and see her daughter. Using the controls on her steering wheel, Tara activated her blutooth and demanded the only number she could think of to help. “Call 'Club.'” _

_ It wasn't a number she called often, and that was evidenced by the note of disbelief she was greeted with when her call was answered. “Tara?” _

“Tara!”

Shocked out of her memory by the sound of her own name being shouted behind her, Tara quickly acted. Unlocking her car door, she scrambled inside and started the vehicle. She recognized that voice calling out for her – David Hale, but, not only was he now a cop, but he was also someone from her past – someone who had constantly tried to warn her away from Jax, and she didn't want either his smug self-righteousness if he discovered he had been right or his pity. Throwing the SUV into drive, Tara pulled out from where she had been parked, taking up several spaces because of the trailer she was hauling behind her car. It wasn't until she was rolling by a red-faced and winded David Hale that she recalled what he would be seeing as he stared after her: there, in the backseat of her vehicle, carefully arranged on its side and only fitting because the back seats were folded down, was a small Harley. Maybe she had avoided a confrontation with David – for now, but he was going to draw plenty of conclusions about her reappearance in Charming anyway. She could only hope that he kept them to himself and didn't go digging where he didn't belong.

The last thing Natalie needed was David Hale getting wind of even a scent of the truth about their lives. Just like everyone else in Charming – actually, perhaps more than anyone else besides Jax, David needed to believe the lies. Her daughter's life depended upon it.

 


	4. Part II - A and B

**Part II**

**A.**

When Natalie was first born, Tara often found herself just... staring at her daughter for hours on end. Natalie would fall asleep in Tara's arms, wrapped around her soft, warm embrace, and Tara would study her little girl. It should have become boring. It should have gotten to the point where Tara had long since memorized every single one of her daughter's features, but that wasn't the case. In fact, with every year, every month, every day that passed, Tara, instead, just found more aspects of her child to focus upon – differences, changes. She was a pre-med student, then a med-student, then an intern, then a resident, and then finally an attending surgeon. She shouldn't have had time to look at her daughter so much, but Tara quickly learned that, when it came to her career and motherhood, she had her priorities, and Natalie was it.

Her complete and utter devotion to her one and only child was twofold. While, realistically, Tara assumed that, before her mother's death, she had known the unconditional love of a parent, she couldn't recall what that felt like. With Natalie, though, she got to experience giving such feelings to someone else, and, in turn, her daughter returned it. For the first few years of Natalie's life, Tara was her world, and, still – to that day, Natalie was hers. It didn't matter who or what would come and go from Tara's life or how old her daughter eventually became, Natalie meant everything to her. Plus, she was Tara's last link to the only other person she could remember ever loving her.

While it didn't happen immediately – Tara still held out hope for a long time after Natalie was born, she eventually transferred her love for Jax to their daughter. Whereas, when they were teenagers, Tara had assumed that she would always have a piece of his heart, slowly but surely, Natalie had become that part of Jax that no one would ever be able to take from her... not even Jax himself. And their little girl was so much her father's daughter. She was bright and vivacious, a beacon of light and warmth in Tara's otherwise usually dim and detached world. Even as a baby, Natalie had Jax's smile – his mouth, his infectious personality, his laugh. Although Tara could now see herself in her daughter as well – in the shape of her nose, in the angle of her cheekbones, in the alabaster of her skin, Natalie looked like Jax, too. With her bright hair and even brighter eyes – eyes that impossible, always changing shade of blue, Natalie was Tara's sunshine baby, replacing the boy who had, for years, provided that missing spark of life to Tara's world.

So, when Natalie was finally brought into the visiting room, Tara found herself, once more, greedily drinking in the sight of her daughter. It had been weeks since she'd laid eyes on her, weeks since she'd been able to look for any changes in her daughter's ever shifting and maturing features, weeks since she'd been able to know the comfort that came from the reassurance of seeing one's child blink, and breathe, and smile. For a mother who had never gone more than a day without seeing her little girl, those weeks while she waited for Natalie's visitation to be approved and arranged had been the longest, harshest weeks of Tara's life – worse than when her mother had been admitted to the hospital for the final time and she and her father had been stuck in a suspended limbo of continual grief, worse than those first few months after Tara had left Charming and Jax behind – alone and pregnant at nineteen.

But Natalie refused to look at her. As she made her way through the room – weaving around and in between the other inmates, their visitors, and the tables that separated mother and daughter, Tara stood anxiously, but Natalie never once glanced up from her prison issued, lace-less shoes. Instead, there was this wall of California blonde hair – a shade so incongruous with Chicago and one that always made Tara think of home, of motorcycle rides, and the Redwood sky – keeping them apart just that much longer. Even as they embraced – Tara holding onto her daughter so tightly it was as though she was trying to pull Natalie inside of her own body... either to trade places with her or take Natalie away with her when she left, Natalie made sure to avoid her mother's scrutinizing, starved gaze. It wasn't until they sat down across from each other, Tara's hands immediately scrambling to latch onto her daughter's, that Natalie finally, slowly, hesitantly allowed Tara to see her.

“Jesus Christ,” she immediately swore. Naturally, her grip tightened almost painfully around her little girl's fingers. “Who did this to you,” Tara demanded to know, her skilled and practiced gaze quickly taking note of her daughter's injuries. Nothing was broken... besides skin, but Natalie was sporting several very dark, very ugly bruises and a split lip.

“It's fine, Mom.”

“Don't 'it's fine, mom' me,” Tara snapped. She could feel her frustration with being so helpless surging to the surface. “Maybe it's been a long time, but this... this life isn't something that you forget. I know what those injuries mean, and I know how you received them. I know about debts, and allegiances, and allies – how you need protection when you're locked up.”

“It's just a few bruises.”

“For now!”

“Mom, it's jail, not war,” Natalie continue to protest, continued to try to mollify her.

“No, it's federal prison,” Tara bit back, her voice soft in volume but certainly not lacking in intensity. “And you're my sixteen year old daughter. I'm allowed to worry, and I'm allowed to know what the hell is happening to you.” When Natalie still didn't move to explain her injuries, Tara pushed. “Was it Brown? Because of the One-Niners, the Sons have been good with Black for years, but I remember trouble with the Mayans. Then, there's always the AB. Samcro did not get along with the Nords either.”

Instead of confiding in her, Tara's daughter gaped. And then she blinked dramatically. And then she grinned. “Holy shit. You've never talked like this before, never... revealed so much. You knew things, back then. You... saw things.”

Tara sighed. Of course her daughter would focus on  _ that _ . “I wasn't just a cro-eater, Nats. You've seen my tattoo.” And Natalie understood the significance of club ink.

“A cro-eater...?” Suddenly, realization dawned, and her little girl's face lit up with amusement and embarrassment. They were close – as close as any mother/daughter pair could be, but there was a line that no sixteen year old girl wanted to cross with her mom, and discussing how a woman could  _ earn _ the term cro-eater shot well beyond that line. After giggling for a moment and trying to stifle the sound by covering her mouth with a hand – a hand very much like Tara's own: thin, and long, and graceful – surgeon's hands, though Natalie had absolutely no interest in science, medicine, or surgery, her daughter sobered. “It wasn't another inmate, mom, and I'm pretty sure that no one's aware of my connection to... to dad.” When Tara raised a brow, encouraging further information, Natalie rolled her eyes. “It was stupid.”

“Yeah. I'll be the judge of that for myself, please.”

Without meeting her eyes, Natalie explained, “you know how I'm, like, a grammar nut, right?” This time, it was Tara's turn to smirk. “Well, I didn't even think about it. I just corrected this guard, and he took... exception to my suggestion. Said I was mouthing off. Knocked me around a little bit.” Before she could respond, her daughter rushed to add, “and I didn't want to tell you, because there's nothing you can do about it. Saying something would only make it worse, and I know how much you hate futility.”

Natalie was right. Tara was so used to fixing things – fixing her patients, fixing her daughter's world, that she did not handle being powerless well. It was a mother's job, first and foremost, to keep her child safe, and happy, and whole. Tara could repair an aortic valve stenosis or literally give a child new life with a transplant, but she couldn't do a damn thing to help her own daughter. But it was worse than that, because she couldn't even  _ try _ . If she did, she'd only put Natalie in even more danger.

“But, hey,” Natalie tried to look on the bright side. For herself, she did that naturally; for Tara, she'd always seemed to just know when her mother needed encouragement. It was somewhat of a role reversal – usually, it was the parent that encouraged the child, but Natalie had never lacked for confidence, optimism, or grace. “At least the other girls – women – don't seem to mind me. They actually ignore me most of the time, which, considering the alternative, probably isn't necessarily a bad thing. And, like I said, nobody seems to know about dad, though they are somehow aware that you're a doctor.”

That certainly didn't seem like an innocuous statement. Widening her gaze in encouragement, Tara prompted her only child to continue talking. In response, Natalie rolled her eyes. “They told me that I needed to get drugs from you or else, but I'm sure it's just a joke – some kind of hazing ritual.”

And this was the teenager that the ATF believed to be a criminal mastermind, an illegal weapons dealer.

“Natty,” she said cautiously, beseechingly. “You need to take these things seriously.”

“Mom, come on,” her daughter protested, chuckling. “They're not serious. They can't be serious. As you reminded me earlier, this is a federal prison. How in the hell are you supposed to get prescription drugs inside for me?”

“Smuggling through vendors, bribing guards. There are ways. I'd have to look into weaknesses that could be used to our advantage, buttons that could be pressed.” It was only after Tara answered and after Natalie's mouth dropped open in shock that she realized the question had not been posed in sincerity.

“Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my straight as an arrow mother?”

Grimacing, for this wasn't something Tara had ever wanted or envisioned confiding in her daughter, she revealed, “I wasn't always so... law abiding.” Despite not wanting her child to know the type of woman she once was, perhaps the silver lining in having the conversation was that it was serving as an excellent distraction for Natalie.

“No shit. Apparently not.” Tara frowned, but Natalie wasn't deterred. “Were you ever arrested.”

She hedged. “A few times.”

“Define 'a few.'”

“Three times,” Tara revealed in half-hearted exasperation. “I was only booked and taken in three times.” So what if she and Jax had gotten into trouble far more than just three times? There was no record of all those instances when Unser cuffed them, read them the riot act, and then let them go twenty minutes later. What Natalie couldn't prove, Tara saw no need to confess. “And they were petty charges: public intoxication, disorderly conduct, possession of stolen property. I was just a kid, and your dad was... well, your dad, and it was a long time ago.”

Sighing, Natalie admitted, “I wish I would have known you back then. I feel like I'm just now realizing that there's this whole other part of you, this whole other side to you, that I know nothing about.”

Tara shrugged. “I grew up.”

“You had me.”

There was something almost sad to her daughter's tone, and Tara quickly moved to alleviate the melancholy. “It was more complicated than that, Natty. Someday, I'll tell you everything. I promise. But don't you ever think, even for just a second, that I regret anything – leaving Charming, having you, raising you on my own. Best. Decision. Ever.”

Solemnly, Natalie nodded in recognition of Tara's words, but she didn't address them further. “Speaking of leaving, do you want to tell me why you sold our house? Why you quit your job? What's going on, mom?”

Tara wasn't going to lie to her daughter. This was her freedom, her life. She deserved to know the truth. But that didn't mean that she wasn't going to at least try to shelter her from some of what was happening and what would need to happen if Natalie's charges were to be dropped. “I sold the house, because I needed the money to pay for your lawyer.”

“Well, then it doesn't make much sense to quit your job, now, does it?”

“I got a different job.”

“Outside of Chicago?” Natalie kept pushing. It was like she already knew the answers to the questions she was posing, yet wanted to hear Tara admit them herself.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“It doesn't matter,” Tara tried to dismiss.

“Don't,” Natalie warned. And then she started to plead. “Mom, please. I can't... I need to know what's going on. Because of me, I've turned both of our lives completely upside down.”

“No,” Tara argued vehemently. “This is  _ not  _ your fault, Jacqueline.” She never called her daughter by her first name, no one did – hadn't since Natalie was just a baby. Suddenly, the words just came pouring out. “Kohn did this. It's about  _ me _ ; it's  _ my  _ fault. And I had to move back to California, but it's only temporary. It's only until I can... get this all straightened out. And I don't want you to worry. I will be here  _ every  _ Thursday. I've already arranged it with the hospital where I'm now working. And we can write. You love to write, and I hate it, so that means you'll just enjoy it that much....”

“You went back to Charming,” Natalie interrupted her breathlessly. Without Tara realizing it, her daughter's heart rate had escalated – her chest rising and falling with her heavy, anxious respirations. “This isn't about me, but it's not about you either. It's about my dad.”

“I'm handling it.”

“No,” her daughter yelled, standing up so abruptly that her chair scraped against the concrete floor and toppled back and forth several times before finally righting itself. The commotion immediately caught the attention of the guards. Out of the corner of her eye, Tara watched as they started to make their way towards the table where she and Natalie were.

Desperately, she tugged on her only child's hands, begging her to sit back down. “Natty, please.” Still, her daughter wouldn't cooperate. “If you would just sit down, I'll tell you everything. Just... please!”

Although she finally complied, Natalie pulled her hands away from Tara's, fisting them together underneath the table. “I'll do the time. I'd rather be here than be the reason why my father is locked up. I won't hurt him.”

Yet again, Tara was reminded of just how alike Jax and Natalie were. She got her loyalty from him as well. “I can't let you do that, Natalie. I can't let you sacrifice yourself for your dad.”

“It's my choice.”

Slamming her hands down on the table, she bit out, “no, it's not! You're mature, and you're independent, and you're smart, but you're still my child; you'll always be my child, and I will do anything, sacrifice anyone... even your father... to keep you safe.” When Natalie went to argue, Tara softened her tone and further explained herself. “Nats, I love him, too. So much. But I love you  _ more _ .”

Natalie was crying. Tara reached across the table to wipe her daughter's tears away, but the sixteen year old beat her to the task, brushing aside the droplets of frustration, of pent up rage, of fear with an angry, rough touch. “I love you, too.”

For the rest of their visit, they sat in silence – Natalie processing everything that Tara had revealed, and Tara taking every last second they had together to observe her beautiful, brave little girl. As their time ticked by faster than time had a right to, she found herself trying not to blink – anything for just one more moment with her only child. But then, as she knew it would, their hour came to an end a lifetime before she was ready for it to, and Tara sat there in silent horror as her daughter was roughly led away, that white-blonde curtain once more falling forward to shield her face from the world. She couldn't help but wonder if the guard who was leading her daughter back to her cell was the same one who had laid his hands on her in violence.

The split lip would heal, though; the bruises would fade. She hated that someone had hit her daughter – that she was even in a position where someone could have that kind of control over her, but, realistically, Tara knew that, if Natalie escaped this nightmare with nothing more than a rough up, she would be lucky. Natalie's freedom was paramount, but, until that day when she could walk out of the state penitentiary, never to return, Tara had another concern: her daughter's safety and health. And, with Thomas and Abel Teller's graves fresh on her mind, Tara couldn't help but fear what would happen the next time Natalie was jumped, attacked, cornered.

Standing, Tara retraced her steps and made her way back outside of the prison – the autumn sun above, as she walked towards her rental car, mocking her.

 

**B.**

“Doctor Knowles to MRI; Doctor Knowles to MRI, please.”

Temporarily ignoring the page, Tara looked up at her patient, removing her gloves and throwing them away. “The medication seems to be working,” she reassured, watching as the preterm mother before her exhaled in relief. The pregnant woman seemed to melt into her hospital bed, and a spark of determination and hope caught fire in her eyes. “You haven't dilated any further, and, as I'm sure you've been able to tell for yourself, your contractions have all but stopped. We're going to continue monitoring both you and the baby for distress, but, as of right now, I see no reason why you shouldn't make it at least 48 more hours, giving the drugs we gave your son time to work on further developing his lungs. Now, I know it might seem impossible in here – with all the machines you're hooked up to and the constant interruptions, but try to get some rest, Melissa, while you can. You  _ and  _ your baby need it.”

The expectant mother nodded, her lids already starting to flicker closed. “Thanks, Doctor Knowles.”

Silently motioning for the nurse to follow her out of the room, Tara picked up her iPad as she left. Without glancing up, she made some notes on her patient's chart while, simultaneously, giving the RN her instructions. “I want you to personally monitor Mrs. Allen's vitals. At the first sign of any change, page me and make a note of it on her chart, so I can see what we're dealing with and plan accordingly before I even step foot back in that room.” Saving the changes she had made to the record, Tara closed out of the file she had been marking, put the iPad to sleep once again, and met the attentive gaze of her staff person. “Also, as soon as the husband arrives, let me know. I want to fill him in on what's happening  _ before  _ he sees his wife. We don't need him causing her any further distress, intentionally or not.”

With a brisk nod in acceptance of her duties, the nurse walked away to return to her responsibilities, and Tara went off in the opposite direction, heading for the elevator. MRI was located on a different floor than her own. As she waited for the lift to arrive, she called up the patient she feared was the cause for her page to Imaging. The little girl – just six years old – was already a brain cancer survivor once over, but she had come in that morning for a routine checkup only to present with some troubling symptoms. This page meant that their fears were founded, and the child, again, would be fighting for her young life.

While the new scans had yet to be saved to the little girl's records, Tara reviewed the oncologist's notes, studied past test results, and looked for any sign of recurrence that might have been missed. Biting her lip, she admitted to herself that she didn't find anything suspicious, which meant that the tumor – or tumors – were fast growing. Stepping onto the elevator, she closed the six year old's chart with a sigh. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her staff paged her because they  _ didn't  _ find anything on the scans, and, now, they were puzzled by the symptoms the patient had presented with. Maybe they just wanted her to see for herself that Gabriella was healthy and still in remission.

The more positive thoughts were nice to consider, but Tara didn't put much faith in them.

The soft note of a bell ringing, alerting Tara that she was now at the Oncology and Imaging floor, made her look up, roll her shoulders back. As she walked towards MRI, she couldn't help but notice how the staff here were still trying to juggle paper files, making Tara grateful, once again, for the anonymous donor whose contributions to St. Thomas made it possible for Margaret Murphy to meet Tara's demands and provide her staff – the doctors and nurses under her command – with iPads to monitor and update their records. It made them just that much better at their jobs. When dealing with life and death situations, immediacy was a game changer.

“What the hell…?!” Caught off guard by the sudden grip around and then the wrenching of her arm, Tara stumbled slightly as she was pulled into an empty hospital room. The door was slammed shut behind her and then she was being pushed up against it before she could even wrap her mind around what was happening or gather her bearings. Once she did, though, once she saw who was standing in front of her – hips cocked and eyes blazing... as if Tara was the one to do the affronting, she groaned in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Gemma!” Attempting to snap her arm away from the older woman's tight hold, she demanded, “let go of me!”

Gemma obliged, shuffling on her heeled, booted feet slightly, but she didn't back down. Grimacing, she remarked, “would you look at the old pussy the crow dragged in.”

Tara wanted to scream in frustration; she wanted to laugh in disgust. More than seventeen years later, and the very first words out of Gemma's mouth only confirmed for her every single reason she had to get her daughter as far away from Charming as she possibly could. But she didn't react, because she wouldn't give Gemma the satisfaction. She wouldn't rise to the bait. After all, she wasn't there to settle old scores or to finally prove she was the better woman. Instead, she was there for one very important reason and one very important reason only: her daughter's life, and, in the meantime, while she was working on securing Natalie's safety, she had patients to worry about. Gemma's paranoia and manipulations, her games, didn't matter.

Leveling the other woman with her most convincing, most forthright stare, Tara demanded, “listen and listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once. I am not in Charming for Jax, or the club, or for you, Gemma. My being here is not personal.”

“Yeah. Try selling that line of bullshit to someone who doesn't know you.”

“Believe what you want, but, remember, I didn't seek you out; you came after me.” Which reminded Tara of something very interesting.... Seventeen years ago, when Gemma confronted her in this very same hospital, she cornered her right out in the open, too secure in her reputation and the fear it generated inside the residents of Charming to worry about privacy or common courtesy, but here they were now – locked away behind a closed door where no one could see or hear them. Tara wasn't sure what this change meant, but she knew it was important. “What are you doing here, anyway,” she asked, suddenly curious. Had Gemma purposefully tracked her down, or.... “Are you sick? Is someone....”

“Oh, don't pretend like you care,” Gemma interrupted her, sneering.

“It's called basic human kindness, decency, and compassion. You should try it every once in a while.”

“I'm here with a cancerous Wayne.” At what must have been a confused expression upon Tara's face, Gemma clarified, “Unser. He's having another chemo treatment. I try to come with him when I can – keep him company, drive him home. The shit makes him sicker than a dog.”

“That's nice of you.”

“Yeah, well, don't alert the Vatican. I'm not ready for sainthood... yet.”

Tara nodded, smirked, and then turned around to leave – her hand already on the doorknob – when Gemma called out, “hey, where the hell do you think you're going?” Tara looked over her shoulder. “We're not finished here.”

“I have patients who are waiting for me.”

With a roll of her eyes, Gemma taunted, “their bedpans will keep for another five minutes.”

She shouldn't allow the other woman to get under her skin – she  _ really  _ shouldn't, but Gemma had always had a knack for pushing Tara's buttons. Shaking her head in part disbelief towards Gemma's insolence and in part because of her own inability to back down from a fight with Jax's mother, Tara spun back around and advanced towards her adversary. Once she was standing directly before Gemma, she quirked her brows and challenged, “you have no idea who you're dealing with now.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I don't clean bedpans, Gemma; I'm a surgeon – one of the most preeminent in my  _ fields _ . I was brought here to make St. Thomas one of the top hospitals for women and children on the west coast.”

“Because you're  _ so  _ smart, right, Doc,” Gemma mocked – her eyes going comically wide with feigned admiration. It was exactly what Tara needed to snap her out of their little battle of wills.

“That's right, Gemma,” she replied, already backing away. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have lives to  _ save _ – a concept that I realize is difficult for you to grasp but try nonetheless.”

She was almost out of the room before Gemma launched her next attack. “He'll never want you again.”

The words made her freeze. “Excuse me?”

“Jax....”

“I already told you that I'm not here for Jax,” Tara cut the other woman off.

But Gemma was not deterred. “After you took his daughter away from him....”

Once more, she interrupted, spinning around and glowering at the older woman. “I did no such thing! I gave my daughter...  _ our daughter _ ... a chance for more. For better. Jax was  _ always  _ welcome to join us. He chose not to; he chose to stay away.”

“ … took her away from  _ his  _ club,” Jax's mother continued without showing even a single sign of having heard anything Tara had said. “He'll never forgive you. While Jax might have been infatuated with you when you were teenagers....”

“Oh, please, Gemma! We both know that Jax was in love with me... just like I was in love with him. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise.”

“It doesn't matter now, though, because Jax moved on. He was in bed with someone else days after you left all those years ago, and, since then, he's been with hundreds of women. He got married.”

“And he had another child, too – a son... who died. I saw Abel's grave,” Tara revealed. She didn't say it to hurt Gemma, but she wanted the other woman to know that she wasn't hurting her either. “I'm sorry for your loss.” And she genuinely was. She had heard stories from Jax about how his brother's death had nearly destroyed his mother. To lose a grandson to the same hereditary condition – albeit, Abel's case had been more complicated than that... which Tara knew because she had used her new position to look at Abel Teller's medical records – had to have been devastating. “With that said, I'm not just going to allow you to attack me for no reason, Gemma. Like I said before, I'm not back in Charming for personal reasons.”

“And my granddaughter,” Gemma wanted to know, rapidly changing the topic. “Is she back in Charming with you?”

“She's at boarding school.” The prepared lie slipped smoothly past Tara's suddenly dry lips. Distantly, Tara could hear her name being paged to MRI for a second time, but she didn't try to leave. She had to make sure that Gemma bought the cover story, because she couldn't do what she needed to if she had Jax's mother dogging her every step.

“Well, aren't you mother of the year,” Gemma scoffed sarcastically. Privately, Tara took a deep breath of relief, her lie having been swallowed without doubt or question. “Samcro wasn't good enough for your kid, but your career was more important than my granddaughter?”

Dispassionately, Tara replied, “said the woman who's more offended on a motorcycle gang's behalf than she is her own son's. Maybe if you cared as much about Jax as you care about Samcro, I wouldn't have felt the need to raise my daughter away from your family.”

Gemma took a menacing step forward. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“It means stay away from me, don't approach me at work again, and  _ never  _ question either my love for my child or my ability to be a mother.”

Without allowing Gemma to respond, Tara turned around, snapped the door handle open, and walked away. Plastering a calm expression upon her face, she made her way towards Imaging, refusing to let her run-in with Gemma rattle her. It would be so easy for Tara to slip into the girl she had once been seventeen years before – to allow Gemma's taunts, and challenges, and dares to distract her. If her reason for being in Charming was anything besides Natalie, Tara had no doubt that she'd be doing everything within her power to prove Gemma wrong. She'd go after Jax, and she'd make him hers once again. But Natalie came first. Nothing else – certainly not Tara's pride... or the feelings she would always have for the father of her only child, no matter how much his absence from their lives had hurt her – mattered.


	5. Part II - C and D

**C.**

Tara waited for Jax to leave before she made her move.

It didn't matter that it had been more than sixteen years since she had seen him, touched him, absorbed him. He was ingrained in her. And it didn't matter that, when he eventually left the garage, he was on a bike she didn't recognize and wearing a helmet. Tara knew, without a doubt, that her body would know his even if she had lost all of her senses. For so long, she had been able to forget and deny the connection they shared – a connection that she would never be able to explain, medically. The distance helped. So, too, did the transference of her love from the father of her child onto the daughter that would always bind them together. But now? Now, that she was back in Charming –  _ his  _ town, the place where they first met, and grew up together, and fell in love? Well, just like that, he was a part of her again.

Or maybe she was just forced to admit that he always had been, always would be – his nearness, even if he was unaware that she was there, destroying her ability to deny the truth. To deny him.

As Tara put her vehicle into gear, she checked the quiet side street before pulling out of the parking lot across from TM and entering the grounds of the garage. While she had been waiting for Jax to leave, she had been surprised by the sheer lack of Sons coming and going from the repair shop and clubhouse. In fact, though there were bikes aplenty, Jax was the only member she had seen during her multi-hour vigil. Since ending her shift at the hospital, Tara had been waiting for her chance to scope out the Sons' stronghold, needing to start her task but not wanting to see or confront Jax yet. If she could do what she had to do in Charming without ever seeing the father of her child, though Tara knew that the blowback from her actions would undoubtedly land at Jax's feet, she'd hide from him... even if that made her a coward.

Her confusion only grew, however, after she had parked her SUV and came to stand outside of the vehicle. Everything was different; nothing was the same. Even the name of the garage had changed – the Morrow stricken, abolished, the repair shop now simply Teller Motors. But the changes certainly didn't stop there. The back side lot was now expanded to house row upon row of brand new and used Harleys which were for sale. In fact, the fence that had once gone about the entire compound was partially removed, creating a separate, street-front for what appeared to be the dealership portion of Teller Motors. And what once had been the clubhouse was now an indoor showroom and office space – everything bright, and open, and shiny. Glass – vulnerable, breakable, can't stand up against a hailstorm of bullets glass – was everywhere the eye could see. But, then again, this was obviously no longer the Sons of Anarchy stronghold.

Gone were the reaper placards, the skull and crossbones signs. There wasn't an anarchy symbol in sight, and the lot was filled with color – not just the black, and navy blue, and white she was accustomed to seeing there. Tara could even see advertisements for other businesses decorating the fence that only seemed to be used as a guideline for those parking their vehicles in their wait to have their car serviced. She saw notices for a greenhouse and flower shop, a cleaning service, and an accountant who specialized in tax services. Hell, there was even a board for a bakery and a dog grooming business.

What the hell.

Whipping her neck back and forth, Tara tried to take in all of the changes, but, in doing so, her confusion just changed to outright bafflement. And then there was this slight fissure of worry that started to form in the small of her back. It sent small shocks of awareness shooting to her fingertips, to the nape of her neck. It was an awareness that she was both missing something and not willing to see what was right in front of her – something that would greatly impact, perhaps even prevent, what she was there to do.

“Can I help you with something?”

Spinning around on the balls of her feet, Tara gasped, being caught unaware. The mechanic stood several feet away from her, obviously hesitant to approach and sensing her agitation. He held a grease cloth in his hands and was lazily wiping off the stains one honestly came by when they worked on cars all day, every day for a living. His gaze was narrowed in concern – a stark contrast to Tara's own wide-eyed, manic expression.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to regain her control, Tara struggled to respond. “I... yes. Of course. I'm sorry, I just.... What did you ask me?”

“Your car,” and the mechanic nodded towards the dusty SUV. “Do you need it looked at?” When Tara still didn't answer, he continued, “I saw you parked across the street earlier.” A note of humor entered his voice, “you casing the place out?”

“Oh, no. I just... you looked really busy when I first got here. I thought... if I perhaps waited a little while, it'd settle down some.” Lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the late afternoon sun, Tara offered the man a self-deprecating, polite grin. “It didn't.”

“Never does.”

Hooking a thumb over her shoulder, she indicated all the advertisements posted around the lot... even going so far as to look where she herself had indicated. “I couldn't help but notice all of the signs. I just started at St. Thomas, and we're going to be transitioning the hospital into a new focus on care for women and children – from fertility, to obstetrics and gynecology, to neonatal, to pediatrics... and you really don't need or want to know all of this.” Feigning embarrassment, Tara cleared her throat awkwardly. “Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I should talk to the hospital administrator – see if she'd like to purchase some ad space.”

The mechanic nodded his head in her direction, narrowing his gaze in estimation... like he was sizing her up. “You some members old lady?”

“Excuse me?”

And then he chuckled at her reaction. “Nevermind.” He turned around, started to head back to the garage, evidently assuming that Tara would just follow. “Sorry, lady, but those are club businesses only. Unless you're connected to one of the guys, your hospital sign isn't going up on that fence.”

Only Tara didn't follow. TM – whether Teller-Morrow or Teller Motors – was a bust. There was nothing for her here. Obviously, for reasons she had no way of knowing, the clubhouse had been moved... probably, if Tara had to guess, to a more secure location. That still didn't explain where Gemma was – why she wasn't ruling over her kingdom with a flick of ash from her ever present cigarette and a knowing sneer – or the signs that, apparently, spoke of a Sons of Anarchy much more interested in legitimate commerce than Tara could recall from seventeen years prior. In the light of everything she had just learned, it served no purpose for her to have any work done on her car.

Thrown and at a loss for what her next move would be, Tara left.  
  
  


**D.**

She heard the roar of an engine long before the knock upon her door, but Tara knew who it was; she knew where he was going.

It shouldn't have been like that. She should have just been another woman up late at night, cleaning and organizing her house, and he should have been just another guy – anyone going anywhere on a Harley. Another Son, a rival biker, just a man who liked the freedom of riding without any club affiliations. But she wasn't just another woman, and he certainly wasn't just some guy, and, really, now that she was back... no matter the reason, it couldn't be any other way.

So, it was with these thoughts in mind – driving her, fueling her – that Tara opened the door. His knocking had escalated to pounding and demands, the angry sounds only ratcheting up her own already heightened emotions. “I know you're here,” he bellowed. As Tara purposefully strode across the room towards the front entrance, she found herself surprised that he didn't just  _ let  _ himself in. “I got a description of your vehicle, tracked it here.” Tara paused to gather herself, taking a deep breath, but her moment of peace was interrupted with another violent burst of hard strikes and livid orders. “Just open up the goddamn door, Ta....”

“Jesus Christ, Jax,” she accused, wrenching open the flimsy piece of wood which had been separating them just seconds before. Unlike him, though, she didn't yell; she whispered, learning long ago the power of tricking someone into listening versus forcing them to. “Do you want the neighbors to call this in? Do you want Hale coming down here...?”

He cut her off – his hauntingly familiar gaze narrowing and turning even icier... if possible. “Yeah, he knows better than to show his face around here tonight.  _ Around you _ .”

Same old Jax – same possessive, competitive, territorial, arrogant.... “What do you want, Jax?”

Tara had been using her body to block his presence as much as she could. Maybe this unplanned and unwanted confrontation between them was inevitable. Perhaps it was even needed, because, despite her desire to do what she needed to do in order to get her daughter back, planning to do so was a hell of a lot easier than actually doing it. Plus, there was the fact that all her best laid plans were already going to shit, and she had only been in Charming for a few days. Necessary or not, she didn't want Jax to come any closer, and she certainly didn't want him coming inside. At her door was close enough. Too close. If he came inside....

But then he was there – his body crowding hers and forcing Tara to stumble backwards... even if he didn't touch her, even if he didn't realize how those few steps closer to her made her feel trapped and vulnerable. She couldn't blame Jax, though. In all their years together, she'd never once felt intimidated by him, and, even now, it was more her own reactions to his nearness that she was afraid of than actually having him so close. So, Jax had no reason to suspect that pushing his way into her house would make her feel uncomfortable, and, as he brushed by her, Tara realized that he was too lost in the haze of his own demons and once buried but now resurrected so suddenly emotions to detect her anxiety.

“You don't call; you don't write,” he sneered as he pushed his way inside physically. He was already there mentally and emotionally. Always had been; always would be. Tara didn't know how to reply. In the past, even when they had fought, Jax had never sounded so... bitter, and why he felt he had a right to now after everything they had been through together and, more importantly, everything she had been through on her own, she had no idea. But then Jax was spinning around and glaring at her – hands on his hips, feet braced apart, and Tara suddenly felt naked under his withering gaze... which was ridiculous, because she was wearing a pair of yoga capris and a couple of layered tanks, but this was  _ Jax _ . “What are you doing here? Why are you back?”

The questions – like he had any right to demand answers from her, like she needed his permission to be in Charming – were exactly what Tara required to push aside her fear and her disquiet and, instead, focus upon her own fury. As it started to bubble to the surface, she realized that it had been simmering for years... just waiting for a chance to, for Jax to make it, boil over. Taking a step forward, she raised her chin in challenge. “You don't have any right to ask me that.”

He scoffed – seemed to chuckle, but the gesture held no amusement. “Oh, I don't, huh?” Before she could respond, Jax was continuing, “Tara, you didn't even come home for your old man's funeral.”

“Don't,” she cautioned him, jabbing a single index finger out of warning in his direction. “I owed  _ him  _ nothing!” She watched as he seemed to deflate in front of her, visibly losing some of his vitriol and recrimination. “Besides, it's not like I could have just dropped everything, Jax.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because, just as quickly as his ire vanished, it reappeared, tinged with the acidity of contempt. “Right. Because your life is so much more important than everyone else's.”

“I never said that, Jax.”

“Didn't have to,” he challenged, striding towards her until they were practically standing toe to toe – her feet bare and open, his hidden away behind his ever-present white tennis shoes. “You left because becoming a doctor was so much better than anything Charming could offer you.” He said Charming, but Tara could hear Jax's own insecurities emerging. What he meant was that leaving was better than anything  _ he  _ could give her. “And then you stayed gone for almost seventeen years because you're a surgeon. You save lives.” He held out his palms in a gesture that, on anyone else, would have been supplication, but, on Jax, was mocking. “With your own two hands, you play god.” She opened her mouth to respond, but, before she could, he kept talking, his words becoming uglier and uglier as he continued. “And don't give me any of this bullshit about what a great opportunity St. Thomas offered you.” She must have looked surprised by his knowledge, because Jax smirked. “Yeah. I heard – about the  _ great  _ Doctor Knowles  _ gracing  _ us with her presence in order to save the hospital.”

Suddenly, she couldn't stand to be near him any longer. Desperately moving away, Tara walked further into the house, not really caring that, in doing so, she was inviting Jax further in as well. All she could think about was putting some distance between them; all she really succeeded in doing was trapping herself in a corner – the room she scurried into only having one exit point which Jax's looming, lingering body blocked... unless she opened the sliding glass doors and ran outside. Ran away. Again. So, with her back against the wall – literally and figuratively, Tara spun around to face him once more. There was nothing to hide behind either – the space bare of any and all furniture, her walls all seemingly torn down. “Me leaving had nothing to do with wanting to become a doctor, Jax. You know why I really left.”

He knew, and he refused to even mention it, to recognize it – the real reason: their daughter. And, of everything that had been said and done between them that night, that's what made her the most irate – the fact that Jax wouldn't even acknowledge that they had a child, that Tara had raised her alone. He didn't ask about her – how she was, where she was at, what she was like. Hell, even Gemma had seemed more concerned about Natalie than Jax was, and Gemma had made her feelings about little girls and granddaughters loud and clear all those years ago when Tara learned that she was pregnant. His absolute refusal to even say her name hurt so much, but pain wasn't a productive emotion, and it sure as hell wasn't going to help her get Natalie back, so Tara channeled that heartache into rage.

“Yeah,” he sneered, looking her up and down. She wasn't sure if the glance was meant to be dismissive or disgusted. Either way, it made her see red, because it was obvious that Jax still wasn't ready to admit the truth about their daughter. “I guess I do.”

“God, just leave, Jax,” she screamed, finally letting go of her temper. “You want to talk about someone not having a reason for being somewhere....” Spinning around so that she wasn't looking at him any longer –  _ she couldn't _ , Tara ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back and away from her face until her grip became caught on knots. Even then, she didn't let go, though. The pain was... bracing. “Opie should have just kept his damn mouth shut.”

“What?” And then she felt a hand grip her upper arm, propelling her back around. Jax dropped his knees so that he was  _ right there _ in her face. Rather than half a foot separating them, it felt like a mere breath. “Opie knew you were back in town?”

“You mean, he wasn't the one to tell you?”

“No. He didn't.” The words were clipped. Indignant. Jax was  _ steamed _ . “Hale told me – gave me shit earlier today for  _ not letting you go _ and for  _ bringing you back _ into my life. You want to tell me why both Opie and Hale knew you were back home before me?”

Tara didn't want to tell him anything, but she also sensed that it would be easier to shut Jax down now rather than allow him to go off half-cocked. “I ran into Opie at the cemetery, and Hale saw me outside of the post office.” Before he could react, she pressed on. “Believe it or not, Jax, me being back in town has nothing to do with you, and, while you're at it, why don't you tell Hale that, too.” Rolling her eyes in a belittling manner, she remarked, “just because he saw a bike in the back of my SUV, he automatically assumes that I'm here because of you, to be with you? Please,” Tara scoffed. Not only did she find Hale's conclusions to be ridiculous, but she also wanted to wound Jax even a fraction of how much he had wounded her that evening. “I know you. I wasn't out of town five minutes before you fell face first between some other woman's legs, yet Hale thinks that, almost seventeen years later, you'd still want me so much that you'd....”

“Shut up.”

She was so taken aback by his interruption that Tara just... stopped. Blinking rapidly, she finally saw the man in front of her. He was... hanging on by a thread. His face was red with fury and... something else, his chest rising and falling visibly with his elevated breathing. His nostrils were flaring, and his fists were clenching and unclenching in a pointless attempt to reign in his temper. Involuntarily, Tara took several steps away from Jax, trying to skirt around him. She told herself it was self-preservation – she knew he'd never hit her, but that didn't mean that he didn't have the power to hurt her in other ways. But really...? With the way she was suddenly reacting to his presence, she knew that, if she didn't get away from him and soon, she'd do something that would hurt them both.

Tara had almost gotten away from him when Jax's right hand shot out and wrapped around her left wrist. “No,” he bit out as he jerked her forward, towards him – his own body twisting to meet her halfway. “You're not walking away from me again.” Then, just as quickly as he had grabbed her, he let go... only to drop his hold to the back of her legs – just below her ass. With both hands, he simultaneously hauled her up against him and lifted, the cradle of her thighs not meeting his waist but going higher to wrap around his chest. At the same time, Jax dropped to his knees, taking her with him. It couldn't have been pleasant – landing like that on the hardwood floors of what was supposed to be her small dining room, but Jax was too lost in what she now recognized as rage fueled lust.

She twisted beneath him, bucked. “Get off of me,” Tara threatened... yet, at the same time, despite her words, she just clenched her legs around his torso that much more. Jax was fumbling with his belt, unhooking it and then moving to undo his pants while she laid there – chest heaving, mind scrambling to catch up with her body. The brief reprieve only lasted for a few seconds, however, and then Jax was there once more – his rough hands wrestling her capris and underwear down and off. In his haste, he left his jeans on, so Tara was fleetingly surprised that he took the time to undressed her completely from the waist down... or, at least, she was until he gripped her hips, pulled her thighs apart, and then dragged her body towards him to the point where her ass was resting against his still bent only now also widened legs. Then, without any warning, without any foreplay, without even touching her other than to hold her still and ready, Jax slammed into her.

He bottomed out. And then he stayed there – the head of his cock jammed against her cervix. However, it wasn't an indication that she wasn't aroused. Despite the fact that Jax hadn't even kissed her, and despite her words to the contrary, Tara wanted him. She had been more than willing – and ready – when he thrust inside of her. Rather, he had just pushed in  _ that  _ far... like he was trying to crawl inside of her, and she was more than willing to receive him. Combined with how tense Tara was – her body and mind, her heart, at war, the pressure didn't lessen until she finally relaxed, sunk into Jax and his bruising touch. Once she did, her gaze shuttered closed, but, still, Jax didn't move. She tried to move for him, but he just tightened his grip, holding her steady. By the time he finally started to pull out of her, Tara felt like she was going to burst out of her own skin.

With just his very tip still inside of her, Jax spoke. “Open your eyes, Tara.” Her lids felt drugged, heavy. Lazily blinking them open, she met his powerful stare – his blue gaze almost violet in its intensity – for only a moment before allowing them to flutter closed once again. But he snapped at her, his words just as biting as his fingers clenched into the tender flesh of her ass. “I said open your eyes.” She did; he continued. “And keep them open.” Jax shoved his way back inside of her, making Tara scream out loud, and then jerked his hips back so that, once more, she could only feel the barest touch of his dick against the lips of her vagina. “I want you to  _ see me _ .”

She did what she was told, and she enjoyed every blissful, illicit, painfully pleasant moment of it.

Neither of them lasted long. Between the angle he was holding her and the sheer speed in which he pounded himself inside of her, Tara was left scrambling as she tried to fight off her orgasm for as long as possible. In vain, she tried to hold onto... something. Because of their position, however, her fingertips could just barely reach Jax's knees, and no matter how much she dug her nails into the wood floor, she couldn't find purchase. Eventually, Tara settled for grasping her own breasts – her long, slender, talented digits twisting her tightly puckered in arousal nipples until the point of agony. Distantly, she remembered, in the past, the sight of her touching herself would only drive Jax to even greater heights of passion, but, despite his demands that she watch him fucking her, his own gaze never lifted to make sure she followed his orders, so he never noticed what her hands were doing – his own attention unflinchingly locked upon where their bodies were meeting. That, too, inflamed her even further. But what finally pushed Tara over the edge was Jax cumming inside of her. For a man who prided himself on his sexual prowess, to know that  _ she  _ made him  _ feel _ so much that he couldn't hold himself back in order to wait for her to climax first, that was the ultimate turn on, and it triggered her own release.

Tara sighed in contentment – her body doing its best to stretch itself after such a toe-curling orgasm, though her ass was still resting in Jax's lap and her legs spread wide around him. She felt... weightless, boneless, like her body had melted into the floor. Finally allowing her eyes to slip shut, Tara laid there, enjoying the sexual satisfaction as it pulsed through her blood stream, igniting every single one of her nerve ending. She hadn't felt.... Well, it had been  _ so  _ long.

Silently, she felt Jax slip from between her thighs, stand. In contrast to everything else that had happened between them that night, as he did so, he gently placed her lower body against the floor before bending down and offering her a hand up. Tara accepted his offer, taking an appreciative note of the fact that, though he was now soft and covered in the combined efforts of their releases, Jax did nothing to hide himself. He left his jeans open and unzipped, his cock exposed. That admiration, however, didn't last long, though, because, as soon as she was standing on her loose and wobbly legs, Tara felt the stickiness between her own thighs, the moisture slowly dripping down her legs.

Jax's cum. His  _ seed _ .

With this realization, her carnal gratification disappeared – morphed into something else entirely. Tara felt shame. She felt dirty. And it wasn't because of Jax – not directly, at least. He did nothing wrong. Yes, the sex had been rough, but she had been right there with him step for step, thrust for thrust. Tara had wanted it just as much as he had, and  _ that's  _ what made her feel ashamed. As a mother, how could she still want the man who had abandoned their child, who didn't even care enough to call, or write, or even ask about her just once? By sleeping with – no, by fucking Jax, Tara felt like she had disrespected her daughter, spit on the fact that Natalie was in  _ federal prison _ because of the decisions Tara had made over the years.

That stung. That stung more than anything else that night had stung – more than Jax demanding answers, more than Jax mocking her decision to become a doctor and ridiculing her accomplishments, even more than Jax completely ignoring the fact that they had a daughter together that he had never once even met. Because, if there was anything Tara prided herself on, it was being a good mother – on doing anything, sacrificing anything, for her little girl; on trying to love her enough to make up for the fact that Jax would rather be a criminal than a father. Because of this – perhaps it was a despicable move but Tara didn't care, Tara said the first thing she could think of to make Jax feel even a smidgeon of the pain he had unwittingly helped her to cause them both.

With her arms folded defensively across her chest, Tara bit out acerbically, “do you know what the best thing about being a doctor is?” Jax apparently, didn't sense her rapid mood change, because he was still smiling slightly – the grin cocky, and self assured, and satisfied – and watching her in confusion, because, of all the things to talk about after what they had just done together.... “I can write myself a prescription for antibiotics, and no one will have to know that I allowed you to stick your unwrapped and oversexed dick in me.”

His smirk dropped, his anger from before crashing back down upon his shoulders almost violently. That she expected; that didn't shock her. What did, however, was Jax's next reaction. Because, instead of returning her ire and her vindictive words with his own, Jax stalked towards her. Tara backed away from him quickly, but her actions were in futility, because Jax was  _ right there _ , pressing in closer, and closer, and closer until her back hit the glass doors hard enough for them to rattle. Tara wouldn't cower, however; she wouldn't back down. Meeting his crackling gaze with her own heated, hateful glower, she wordlessly challenged him to do his worst. He didn't blink, and she grinned darkly, nastily. Glancing downward, she noticed what her words had really caused: Jax was punishingly hard. Again.

His hands  - ringless hands Tara noticed with a jolt - gripped her tank tops, but, rather than at the bottom, Jax wrapped his hands around the necks, pulling downwards and ripping them off of her. Before Tara could even respond, he then had her twisted around to face the sliding glass doors, her body plastered to the cool surface. He crowded against her, molding their bodies  - his now suddenly nude as well – together, and then dipped his head down to brush against that spot along her neck and shoulder that only he had ever seemed to find, to fit. His breathing was labored and hot against her neck – a startling contrast against the goosebumps otherwise spreading rapidly along her skin. As he ground himself against her ass, he whispered into her ear, “I don't know how many women I've fucked over the years, Tara – hundreds, at least.” She felt her nostrils flair in disgust before a hand was being wrapped in her hair and her head twisted around so that their eyes met. “But I've  _ never  _ gone without a condom with anyone except you.”

Briefly, she thought about his son – a child conceived and lost with another woman. But, despite knowing of Abel Teller, Tara didn't doubt the sincerity behind Jax's words. It had been a long time, but she  _ knew  _ him. She knew when he was lying, and she knew when he was telling the truth, and, in that moment, everything that was happening between them was honest – the words, the want. Even if it wasn't, Tara knew she wouldn't stop it. Stop him. Stop them. Right or wrong, good or bad, she needed what was happening between them. She needed to see where it was going to go even if it was a mistake, even if she'd hate herself in the morning. She needed Jax.

“This time,” he told her – his mouth moving in to brush against her own with every word that left his lips. “I want you to  _ feel me _ .”

Without further prompting, Jax kissed her – pried her mouth open and slipped inside, while, at the same time, he slipped his cock inside of her as well. His left hand was removed from her hair, trailed down the line of her spine, and then wound around her waist to blindly hunt for her fingers. His right hand found her grip as well, and Jax weaved their digits together, lifting both of their arms up so that Tara's palms were pressed against the glass doors. From his legs which were bracketing her own to his mouth which relentlessly refused to let go of her lips, her tongue, Tara was completely and utterly surrounded by Jax.

He took his time. Unlike before, he moved inside of her at almost a leisurely pace. And it had nothing to do with a lack of desire. Although it had only been mere minutes since their last release, Jax had always recovered quickly, especially when they were fighting and having sex. Although they were no longer teenagers, Tara wasn't surprised that she could still rile him up and excite him so easily. It was just how they worked together – always had and, apparently, always would. No, Jax's drawn out and slow thrusts were a punishment all on their own – his way for paying her back for the ugly words she had spewed at him. Of course, he could sense her desperation, and, even if it matched his own, he loved nothing more than to make her beg and plead for more, for harder, for faster. She couldn't do that with words, though, because Jax never stopped kissing her. All Tara could do was moan and whimper, drive her hips down and back in encouragement, and clamp her walls down around him in an unforgiving attempt to keep him  _ there _ .

Their bodies, already sweaty from before, became downright slick, Tara sliding against the glass. The heat they generated also made the doors steam over. The cool moisture should have been a relief, but it just taunted her, aroused her, further – the liquid yet another pleasant sensation against her already overstimulated skin. Her nipples were so hard that, distantly in the back of Tara's mind, she was surprised they weren't scratching the glass, and then there was the contradiction of Jax's hard, smooth, burning cock effortlessly undulating in and out of her compared to the chilled wetness on the doors licking her mound where Tara wantonly rubbed herself against the hard surface in her desperate attempt to find release.

It seemed like hours later – she couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she could only feel – when Jax finally took pity on her. He took their still clasped together right hands and brought them between her abdomen and the door. Down, down, down, Jax dropped their touch – his fingers demanding certain actions of her own. First, he sought her hips bones, using his own digits to make Tara ghost her own touch over the fine points. Then, he lowered their touch even further, coaxing her into whispering the pads of her fingers against her swollen and dripping nether-lips, against his thick and engorged, slippery with her arousal dick. Finally, Jax allowed her to stimulate her own clit – squeezing, and twisting, and pinching that tiny little bundle of nerves until she fell apart in his arms and finally,  _ finally  _ orgasmed. This time, it was her release that triggered his.

Gasping in fulfillment, Jax wrenched his mouth away from Tara's. Her chest ached in agony from want of air, but even that couldn't dim the absolute rapture exploding out from her womb and sending shockwave after shockwave of euphoria throughout her entire body. It was so much ecstasy that it almost hurt. “Oh god, no more,” she panted. Implored. “I can't. Not again.”

She was still pressed up against the glass, and Jax was still pressed up against her – still inside of her, though now semi-flaccid. He chuckled softly. It was a sound of promise, and it made shots of delight spark anew low in Tara's belly. She shivered. “We're just getting started, Babe. There are still three more senses  _ of me _ I need you to remember.”

Tara's forehead came down to rest against the cool door, and all she could do was groan in response – groan from exhaustion, groan from anticipation, groan in reaction to the pleasure-pain of arousal Jax's threat of promise stirred inside of her already trembling body.

It was going to be a long night.


	6. Part III - A and B

**Part III**

**A.**

Tara woke the next morning because she was cold.

Or maybe she woke because she knew what that cold meant. It was strikingly honest in its unfamiliarity. Jax had left her – stole away during that hazy, milky hour before dawn when it seemed like time stood still. It wasn't the first time Tara had woken up alone, and she should have gotten used to it after the past seventeen years, but, as teenagers, when they were dating, Jax never left without a goodbye – no matter how early, no matter how premature, because, oftentimes, those goodbyes just led to him staying with her longer, in her bed, between her thighs, and just stepping foot in Charming had seemingly erased all of the time and distance, the secrets and lies that had been separating them for so long. Her toes were chilled; her pride, and heart, and resolve raw; and Jax was gone.

For a brief moment, Tara contemplated just staying in bed, just finding all of the blankets they had kicked aside and pushed out the way the night before, curling up, and hiding from the world, but that wouldn't solve anything. Her daughter would still be in trouble, Tara's plan in tatters, and she had a feeling no comforter could alleviate the fear manifesting itself as the ice rapidly freezing the blood in her veins. Gone was the illusion of bitter numbness Tara had been clinging to since returning home. In one night, Jax had managed to break down all of her carefully constructed and necessary walls. Now she could feel everything – not just her love and worry for her daughter but also all those emotions for the father of her only child that she had foolishly believed wrestled under control by the all-consuming devotion of parenthood... including the telling tenderness of her body as she struggled to sit up and slide out of bed.

Ignoring the soiled sheets she left behind and the pillow she had cast aside – the pillow Jax had used the night before and the one Tara woke up clutching, she gingerly made her way towards the bathroom. Her steps were slow and stiff, awkward. Her legs felt weak and bowed, the space between them sticky with a reminder and an accusation. In contrast, the rest of her body just felt heavy – heavy with exhaustion, heavy with dread, heavy with arousal. Because, despite the night before and how many times Jax had made her orgasm, and despite all of the other things he made her feel – she loved him, she hated him; she depended upon him, she feared him; she needed him, she needed to _not_ need him, Tara still wanted Jax.

He was not only the first boy she had ever been with, but, now, he was the last man she'd allowed to touch her, too. As for all that time in between being Jax's girl and the woman who crashed back into his life and turned it upside down with remembrances of love and the reawakening of lust? Well, Jackson Nathaniel Teller was Tara's only as well.

Automatically, she reached for the light switch, flipping it on as she stepped into the bathroom. While Tara flinched away from the sudden brightness, the shiver that went down her spine and the gasp that made her breath catch in her throat and her chest ache had nothing to do with the temporary discomfort and everything to do with the message staring her boldly, brightly in the face. Maybe Jax had never left her before without a goodbye, but he had never left her a note either.

No, that was more her style.

Shaking that self-recriminating thought away, Tara drilled her shocked, unblinking gaze into her bathroom mirror. Despite the situation – Jax slipping away under the cover of her enervated slumber, what she was looking at wasn't an explanation. It was a demand, a warning; it was a vow. Even reading the words out loud in her own voice couldn't diminish their threat of promise. “This isn't over. We were not finished.”   
  
Just as the message itself was bold, so, too, was the shade in which it was written: red – the color of blood, and sex, and life, and death, the lipstick some long forgotten, impulse purchase at Natalie's insistence that Tara let loose and have more fun. When Natty got in those moods, Tara would always humor her. She'd make a fuss and buy a new outfit. She'd even go so far as to make plans... only to inevitably cancel them in order to spend more time with her daughter. The one time, though, that Natalie had become particularly adamant.... Well, needless to say, Tara knew for damn sure that Nats had never imagined some lipstick purchased for a date Tara never would have gone through with actually being used by Jax after her parents spent an entire unbridled, untamed, insatiable night fucking each other.

For several minutes, Tara was fixed upon that note, those words. Did Jax leave the message on the mirror, because he wanted to make damn sure that she saw it – that she couldn't run away or hide from it, or was he just in a hurry, refusing to take the time to search out a pen and some paper and, instead, settling for the easiest course of action? What Tara didn't question was the purpose behind those two sentences, their intention, their double meaning. Oh, they held relevance for who Jax and Tara were today. After the night they spent together, even over-sexed Jax wouldn't have left unaffected. But the short, to the point declarations were also meant for their nineteen year old selves as well.

After everything the changed town had revealed to her, everything Gemma had said and Jax hadn't, it was just one more thing to confuse Tara... as was the fact that, once she finally moved and made her way into the shower, it became evident that Jax had cleaned up before leaving, which told Tara that he hadn't left her bed – or, more accurately, the mattress she was sleeping on – to go home; he had left to go somewhere else, to someone else. Whether that was the club or another woman, though, Tara couldn't be sure. Despite this uncertainty... and the irrational jealousy it inspired no matter which option was true, she couldn't help her body's reaction towards the knowledge that Jax had used her shower before her. It was just so... domestic. So intimate. He had fucked her raw the night before, but feeling the wet tiles beneath her feet – tiles damp because Jax had been there before her – and realizing that he had used her shampoo, her soap, twisted something up inside of Tara that she didn't want to confront. Instead, she pushed aside the tremors of awareness her body wanted to succumb to and closed her eyes, leaning forward under the spray of scalding water to rest her forehead against the grounding coolness of the shower wall.

_Tara woke with a jolt._

_She wasn't sure if it was a belated thrill from her recent, all-consuming activities with Jax or a fear that he would – and wouldn't – be there when she opened her eyes that woke her, but, whatever the reason, she was grateful. Tired or not, the opportunity of a passed out Jax was too great to turn down, and Tara wouldn't be able to earn her reward – Natalie's freedom – without undergoing a little risk. Earlier, she had risked her heart. Now, she needed to risk discovery._

_Slowly, she lifted her shoulders from the mattress to observe the tableau laid out before her. While Jax was holding her close – his body laid out on its stomach; his left arm slung low around her hips – his hand possessively cupping her heat; his nose, and mouth, and lips, and breath tucked into the curve where her right leg met her ass, Tara realized how lucky she was that he had saved 'taste' for last. If they had fallen asleep any other way, she'd be completely wrapped up in his embrace. That's how Jax slept: he swallowed her whole. Tara wasn't sure if he held her so tightly because he wanted to keep her safe or because he refused to let her leave, but what she did know was that he didn't react well when she tried to put distance between them. It didn't matter how miserable, how unrelenting, the summer heat was, he'd burn her alive from the outside in before he ever let her go._

_But that was then, and this was now, and never before had they ever been so... out of control with one another. Between the unconventional way they were arranged across the bed and Jax's sheer depletion of energy, Tara could only hope – and bargain with powers she didn't necessarily believe in – that she could slip away undetected. Deciding on speed rather than subtlety, at the same time as she shot her body backwards across the damp and dirty sheets, Tara swung her legs out, around, and then off the side of the bed, sitting still for several seconds after she moved out from underneath Jax. She held her breath, and he held onto his sleep, eventually causing Tara to sigh in relief and stand up._

_Now free, she moved around quickly. Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, for she wasn't sure for how long Jax would remain unconscious and unaware, Tara immediately set herself to task. On tiptoes, she crept from the bare, impersonal bedroom back out into the main portion of the small house, her quiet steps automatically retracing the path Jax had taken as he had led them further towards damnation earlier that night. Once she was in the dining room, she registered her own nudity. It was seeing their clothes – ripped and forgotten – scattered so haphazardly about the otherwise empty room that reminded her. Perhaps it should have been strange – to notice how comfortable she felt in her own skin... and nothing but her own skin... again after so many years, but just like everything else with Jax that evening, it was like they had just fallen back into place with one another, back where they fit, and the fact that it_ wasn't _foreign made it disconcerting. It was that acknowledgement that spurred Tara forward that final step._

_She whispered her feet across the hardwood floors, picked up Jax's jeans, removed his wallet, and silently allowed the pants to fall back to the ground. Nothing she had seen outside of Gemma's house had told Tara that Jax had long since moved out of his childhood home, but she knew that to be the truth anyway. He had been married, had watched his son be born and die on the same day. Not even Gemma would have been able to keep Jax under lock, and key, and thumb through such meaningful and life-changing experiences. But it was also obvious that he wasn't living at the clubhouse either... or, at least, what had once been the clubhouse at TM. Perhaps he had another room at the new Sons of Anarchy stronghold, but the winds of change had touched the Reaper too much for that not to be different as well. Nothing Tara had seen in Charming so far had made much of any sense... at least it hadn't reconciled with her recollections and expectations, which told her that the answers, the truth, the leverage, the ammunition she needed wasn't going to be found where it would have been seventeen years ago either._

_Removing Jax's driver's license from his wallet, Tara zeroed in on his address, reading it over several times before she was certain that it was memorized. Then, to make sure that Jax never suspected her late night... or, more accurately, her early morning snooping, she replaced his license just the way she found it, slipped it back inside of his jeans pocket, and made sure that absolutely nothing looked disturbed. Just as she was about to steal her way back towards the bedroom where a hopefully still slumbering Jax obliviously awaited her, Tara caught sight of Jax's kutte. More specifically, her gaze was snagged by his president's patch. And she couldn't look away._

_It wasn't that she was surprised by his leadership position – not at all, in fact. Plus, the fact that Jax was the highest ranking member of Samcro actually worked to her advantage. It made the get she was tasked with setting up just that much sweeter. But it also made the reason that they were all in their current mess just that much more painful as well, because Tara had to wonder if that patch was worth it: was it worth letting her go, never knowing his daughter, allowing them to live without him – unsuspectingly vulnerable to the depravity and obsession of a madman? While a part of Tara resented Jax, and the club, and that stupid president's patch, the other part of her hoped that his rank was worth it – that it was everything Jax wanted and wished for, because, otherwise, what was the fucking point?_

_Pushing aside the sudden sourness, she made her way back towards the bedroom, back towards Jax. Gently, Tara lowered herself to the bed, making sure that she didn't jostle the mattress at all. For a few seconds, she just rested there. Once she was reassured that Jax was still asleep, she inched her way down into a reclined position, this time laying in the same direction as Jax – with her head on a pillow and her legs stretched out towards the nonexistent footboard. Before she could reach for the sheet, however, Jax was there. For a second, Tara froze; she believed herself caught. But then Jax dipped one of his legs between her own while rolling her onto her side; and he took possession of her torso, and her arms, and her breasts with his embrace; and he buried his face into the slope of her neck all before almost violently jerking her back against his body. It wasn't until he had her toes and feet tangled with and warmed by his calves that he finally settled. In response, Tara bit back a sob and closed her eyes._

_It was going to be a long night._

And a long day now, too.

Resolutely, Tara forced her gaze open. Wide awake and focused once more, she showered in a rush. The sooner she finished getting ready, the sooner she could go to work; and the sooner she went to work, the sooner she could get her plan back on track. Because that's what mattered: the plan – not sleeping with Jax, not knowing that he had showered in her bathroom, not the note he left for her on her mirror. And the next step in her plan was checking out the place where Jax lived.

Tara just hoped Jax's house proved to be more informative than his place of business.

 

**B.**

The longer Tara methodically and carefully searched – because she couldn't leave even a breath of her presence behind in Jax's house when she left (in fact, she was being so cautious that she had purposefully not worn any perfume that day just in case her scent lingered and Jax recognized it), the more confused and frustrated she became... and not for the reasons her nineteen year old self – hell, even her twenty-nine year old self – would have predicted. Jax's house wasn't the disgusting bachelor pad it should have been. While Jax had tried to shelter her from the other Sons when they were still dating, Tara wasn't naïve. She had seen the bunkhouse, she had attended her fair share of Samcro parties, and Gemma had wasted no time in sharing with Tara Jax's well-earned reputation. Despite this, however, there wasn't a single sign of a woman – let alone women – in his house.

Instead, Tara found books – so many books. Jax had always liked to read, but he had been private with the hobby... almost as if it embarrassed him. Plus, even as a teenager, his free time had been quite limited. Between his responsibilities to the club and their almost obsessive need to always be together, it wasn't like Jax had been prone to hanging around home at night by himself with a good read. Apparently, however, that had changed. Because there was no other explanation for the sheer amount of books he possessed. And they weren't just Harley manuals and outlaw biographies either. He owned novels – both historical and classic and contemporary; he owned non-fiction works ranging in subject matter from Accounting to Zoology. He had bookcases in both spare bedrooms – one of which served as a home office, books lining the walls of his living room and dining nook, books tossed aside – some marked where he had stopped reading them and others just laid open – on his coffee table, his nightstand, his kitchen counter, the back of his toilet.

But the surprises didn't end there. The kitchen was fully stocked... and not just with beer and bud laced brownies. Maybe Jax wasn't an accomplished chef, but it was obvious based upon his cupboards and fridge that he could fend for himself. Gemma wasn't making all of his meals for him and stocking his freezer. His mother wasn't cleaning up after him either, because, though the house was picked up and neat, it wasn't crazy organized and impersonal either. It looked lived in. Jax even had a computer... and it wasn't that ancient dinosaur from his old room at his mother's. It was a relatively new laptop which was obviously well-used, because it was backed up to an external hard-drive and left open and awake, not turned off and closed.

Just like TM, just like what had once been the clubhouse, that computer, however, failed to yield Tara the answers and incriminating information she sought. It held records, but they were all for legitimate businesses. When the mechanic had told her that those signs at Teller Motors advertised for club related ventures, he hadn't been lying, and Jax had his thumb in all of those profitable pies. So, Tara found tax returns and spreadsheets, email correspondences and research into expansion ideas but nothing illegal. Hell, she even discovered that Jax had developed his love for reading into a skill at writing – a journal left waiting for his return. For a moment, Tara considered reading the document, especially if there was an entry about their night together a couple of days prior, but the information the document contained was private and personal, not club-related, and, frankly, she was more scared of what she might find than curious. Deciding that she'd only stoop so low if she had no other option, Tara moved onto her last hope for dirt on the father of her child: his safe.

Unlike the lock box she remembered Jax having back when they were together as teenagers, his safe was much larger, and he made no effort to disguise it. As she set to work in cracking its code, Tara also realized that Jax made no real effort to protect the safe's contents either. He used the same set of numbers now as he had seventeen years prior: the date of his father's accident. The small memorial to John Teller's death was morbid, but that wreck had forever changed Jax's life and set it on the path he was still following to that day. Tara had no doubt that Jax would go back and save his father's life if he could, but, nonetheless, that fateful day in November was the most important day in Jackson Teller's life – not the day they met, not the day she left, not the day his daughter was born, and not the day that his son had died.

As Tara spun the dial, she tried to tell herself that Jax's predictability wasn't because of a disregard for the things she was about to find inside of the safe and, instead, was due to just how well she knew him. The reassurance, though, landed flat, because Tara was not an optimistic woman. She couldn't be – not after everything she had done, seen, lived through, and still faced. And her cynicism was proven justified when she pulled the safe door open and found personal mementos rather than culpable evidence of illegal activities performed by Jax on the Sons' behalf. Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Tara closed her eyes in defeat, the pain of biting her own lip the only thing keeping her tears at bay.

She was utterly and completely lost.

Birth certificates, death certificates, property deeds, and business licenses – these things did absolutely nothing to help her daughter. Perhaps this unexpected streak of entrepreneurial success on Jax's part meant that he could help pay for Natty's lawyer, but it certainly wasn't going to give Tara the leverage she needed to appease Kohn. And she was quickly running out of time – as was Nats, not to mention patience and will. It took every last ounce of Tara's nerve to drop her entire life and move back to Charming in order to dig up dirt on Jax. She practically had Teller Motors under surveillance, and she had broken into the home of her only child’s father, but to what end? Tara had _less_ to show for her efforts than before she had set herself on this insane mission, because what she had failed to find had erased even her suspicions.

As she angrily went to shove everything back into the safe, a thick, clipped set of slightly faded papers caught her eye, and Tara paused long enough to read the document's title: _The Life and Death of Sam Crow_ _– How the Sons of Anarchy Lost Their Way._ “By John Thomas Teller,” Tara murmured out loud to herself in curious speculation. She was just opening up what appeared to be a book written by Jax's deceased dad when she heard the unmistakable, familiar sound of a motorcycle approaching. Acting instinctively, she tossed the clipped papers into her bag; put everything else back away; slammed the safe's door shut; and then dashed out of the spare bedroom, through the house, and let herself out through the laundry room entrance.

Tara didn't know what – or, more accurately, who – to expect as she made her way through Jax's carport and down onto his driveway. It could have been Jax himself pulling up to the house, or it could have been any number of other Samcro bikers stopping by. Not only was there a good chance that Tara wouldn't recognize the Son, but what were the chances that he would recognize her? Within months of each other, Abel Teller and Donna Winston had died. Outlaw bikers came and went. It was a hard life, so Tara wasn't expecting the club to have remained unchanged, except for the shift in leadership, all the many years she had been gone. Undoubtedly, there'd be new, fresh blood, and, to them – hell, even to some of the guys she once knew – Tara wouldn't be anything more than an outsider nosing around their president's home.

His beard gave Opie away, and Tara sighed in relief. Lifting a hand up to shield her eyes against the early morning sun, she watched as Jax's best friend approached – his expression unreadable under the helmet, shades, and perpetual frown he wore. As Opie pulled into the drive, Tara continued to slowly make her way down the cracked concrete, smiling slightly in greeting. If Opie picked up on her nerves or recognized that her grin was less than sincere, he didn't say anything. In fact, he remained completely silent until he had his bike parked and turned off – its stand kicked down with a booted foot, his helmet snapped off and tossed onto a crooked handlebar. The sunglasses, however, remained on.

“What the hell are you doing here, Tara?”

She feigned innocence. “What, I can't even get a good morning first?” The only response Tara received was a pointed yet patient uptick of Opie's brows. Luckily, she didn't need to stall, because she had always been quick on her feet. Years of living with a drunk had finely honed her ability to come up with cover stories at the drop of a hat. “My car broke down,” Tara finally answered him, nodding with her chin down the street to where her SUV was conveniently parked. Thankfully, she had possessed the forethought earlier to not make her uninvited presence in Jax's home obvious. “I was about to call for a cab when I noticed the name on the mailbox. The last I knew, there weren't too many Tellers in Charming, and his bike was in the garage, so....”

“He must have his truck,” Opie stated without reaction. Before Tara could reply, he continued, “that's rather convenient – that you broke down right in front of Jax's place.”

“That's what I thought, too, until no one answered the door,” Tara played along. “Charming's not like Chicago. It'll take me twenty minutes to get a cab to come out here and pick me up. But Jax wasn't home, so I'm going to be late for work, which means... not as convenient as we thought.”

Tara hoped that her comments would urge Opie into telling her where Jax was so early that morning. The Jax she remembered was not an early riser. He worked hard, and he played even harder, which meant that he rarely fell into bed before dawn. But now here was the second morning in four days that Jax had disappeared on her. While his newfound elusiveness was proving advantageous, it also raised questions Tara wasn't sure she wanted the answers to. Breaking into her thoughts, Opie tried to hand her his helmet. “Here,” he offered. “Put this on and then hop on the back. I'll give you a lift.”

“No, Opie. I couldn't ask you....”

“You didn't ask,” he cut her off. “I offered.” With just a hint of amusement to his tone, Opie added, “after all, we wouldn't want you to be late for work now, would we?”

Although she took hold of the helmet, Tara continued to protest. “But my car....”

“ … will be fine where it is until I can get a tow truck sent over here for it,” Opie was quick to interrupt her with his reassurances. “You were willing to leave it behind earlier when you walked over here to ask Jax for a ride. Nothing's changed.”

But Tara wasn't willing to surrender so quickly. “But that was when I thought Jax was still at home, not busy... as you obviously are. You weren't out riding this early in the morning for no reason, and you have better, more important things to do with your time than play chauffeur and rescue doctors in distress. I'll call a cab, and, during my lunch break, I'll make arrangements for my car.”

“Oh, I get it.” And the infuriatingly smug man before her had the audacity to smirk. “You don't want my help, because you know I'll use TM, and you can't have TM work on your car, because then Jax might find out that you're back in town, and you haven't talked to him yet.”

“I'm standing in his driveway, I knocked on his back door and was going to ask him for a ride to work, and you don't think we've... talked?” Despite her best intentions, Tara felt the telltale blush steal over the apples of her cheeks. Cursing her inability _not_ to react to even the thought of Jackson Teller, her gaze hardened, but it was too late. Opie had already seen right through her, and he was chuckling as a result.

“You mean you've had sex.”

“Shut up, Ope,” Tara snarled, jamming his helmet onto her head and buckling it underneath her chin. As she climbed on the bike behind him, she kept talking – her embarrassment preventing her from keeping her mouth shut. Opie just had this way of making her feel like a foolish, innocent sixteen year old girl again. It was unnerving, really. That embarrassment didn't stop her from lying, however. “For your information, it's Gemma that I'd like to avoid.”

He pushed his kickstand up and then used his feet to propel the bike around so that they were facing the road. “If you're staying in town and if you and Jax are, well, you and Jax again, then you need to get over that shit with Gemma, Tara. You're a grown-ass adult now, so act like it already.”

Tara snarked back, grumbling, “I will when she does,” but her words were drowned out by Opie starting his bike. Balancing herself by holding onto his shoulders, Tara settled into the ride. Despite the fact that she hadn't been on the back of a Harley in nearly seventeen years, she fell into the rhythm easily enough so that, less than a minute into their commute towards the hospital, Tara was already lost in thought, lost in her worry. Contrary to what she had told Opie, Gemma was the least of her concerns. First and foremost, she needed to figure out her next step, because, quite frankly, she had no idea what the hell was going on anymore.

Maybe, she was starting to realize, she never had.


	7. Part III - C

**C.**

Tara had only been in Charming a mere handful of days, and she had nothing to show for her time and efforts - nothing of substance, nothing of worth, nothing but more questions whose answers she feared would not actually help her, help her daughter, but, yet, her lies were already starting to catch up with her. It wasn’t until she was finished with her shift and had exhausted every plausible excuse to stay at the hospital longer that she recalled her car had been towed to Jax’s now, apparently, legitimate garage. No doubt her cover story to avoid Opie’s suspicions when he caught her coming out of Jax’s empty house would come back to further bite her in the ass once it was discovered that there was nothing wrong with the dusty yet dependable SUV, but that was a battle for another day, another worry, and maybe TM was so busy that, by the time one of Jax’s mechanics got to Tara’s vehicle, she’d already be out of town once again and, more importantly, Natalie would be out of Kohn’s crosshairs.   
  
Yeah… and Gemma would sincerely admit that Tara was a good mother and that Jax had always and would always love Tara best.   
  
So, Tara had lingered at St. Thomas that much longer as she waited for the cab she called to arrive. The dispatcher told her the wait would be fifteen minutes, so Tara returned to her office and continued to make copies - two, to be precise - of John Teller’s manuscript. Finishing just as the taxi should have been pulling into the hospital’s back lot, Tara shoved both the original and one of the copies into her bag, the other she secured in a locked desk drawer before turning out the lights and locking the door behind her. Quickly, Tara took the hallways, exits, and stairwells reserved for staff only, pushing out onto the loading dock with a sigh of relief. Although she had already done far more suspicious and troubling things in her effort to free her daughter since returning to Charming… and no doubt would continue to do so, for some reason, stealing and replicating Jax’s father’s book felt the worst, the dirtiest - not because Jax wouldn’t want her to read it but because he _would_. Taking his option, his right, to share that with her away from him felt like more than an invasion of his privacy; it felt like she was robbing him of an integral part of _them_.   
  
Despite the fact that no one had noticed her on her flight into the quiet, solitary dusk, Tara’s heart rate was elevated, her breathing rushed. And then she looked up as the loading dock door slammed shut behind her only to be confronted by those eyes which had followed her 2,000 miles across the country in her dreams and in the face of their daughter. Jax was on his bike, the Harley idling, next to the cab she had requested, the cabbie’s window down, the volume of his music up.   
  
Before Tara could react, before she could hide the guilt which colored her cheeks a crimson so bright that it burned, she watched as Jax leaned over and handed the taxi driver several bills. He said something to the other, older man, flashed that tried and true Teller grin, and the cab backed up and drove away, Jax turning back to Tara and patiently holding out a helmet for her. It - his audacity, his self-assurance, his insolence, his presumptiveness - was exactly what Tara needed to banish her guilt, the heat of its sting being replaced by the frigidity of her wrath.   
  
“What the hell, Jax?!” Tara would have attempted to push him off of his bike, too, by shoving against his chest - her words and tone alone not satisfactory outlets for her anger, but, luckily, she was well versed in still managing to think through her irritation when it came to Jackson Teller. Still, though, she smacked the helmet out of his outstretched hand, the black matte headgear bouncing several times against the paved parking lot before becoming lost in the shadows and the ever-present tension that arched between them whenever they were near one another. “That was my ride!”  
  
Jax just smirked at her display of aggression - both amused and aroused, no doubt. There wasn’t a wrinkle of surprise on his face either, so, evidently, he still knew her as well as she feared, as well as she craved he did. “I’m taking you home,” he announced with a smirk. His words, his body language, his voice brooked no arguments, but Tara was never one to do as she was told.   
  
“Like hell you are!”  
  
“Babe, as much as I’m enjoying your signature brand of foreplay, remember what happened the last time we fought like this. Now, I’m game,” Jax told her, shrugging, grinning, already reaching for his belt buckle. Tara moved - she knew that much, but she wasn’t sure if she stepped away from him… or if she sidled that much closer. “But I’m not sure that’s the first impression you want to make at your new job.”  
  
He had her, and they both knew it. Oh, Tara could always go back inside and call another cab, but there was absolutely nothing to prevent Jax from simply repeating the tableau which had already played out once between them and an unsuspecting taxi driver that evening. And he was right in that, when she couldn’t release her elevated emotions when in a temper, Tara had a nasty habit of allowing them to manifest in attraction and want and always towards Jax. If she tried to avoid him by going back inside and spending the night in her office, she knew without a single shred of doubt that he would simply follow her inside, breaking down the door if he had to in order to make his point. And the smug bastard knew that, despite the tempestuous nature of her personality, Tara didn’t like to show the world how deeply she felt things. For good or bad, for better or worse, those peaks and valleys were reserved for Jax Teller alone. Her coworkers had no business witnessing the highs and lows he could bring forth from her.   
  
With a withering glare but not a single further word shared between them, Tara acquiesced. She rounded the front of Jax’s bike and moved deeper into the hospital’s lot to locate and pick up the helmet she had battered aside moments before. As she bent down to pick it up, she felt his gaze upon her ass. It was a possessive, knowing gaze - one that Tara remembered well and ashamedly coveted all the more after their recent night together; it was a gaze that spoke of promise fulfilled and fulfillment promises that would be kept; it was a gaze that reminded Tara that there was something she needed to know before she caved and did what they both wanted.   
  
Holding the helmet against her abdomen like a shield, Tara stood her ground and refused to move any closer to Jax until she had her answer. While she wasn’t sure what she would do if she didn’t like his response, she would cross that bridge if he disappointed her. When he disappointed her. Because Tara had to believe that Jax would say the wrong thing, because, if he didn’t, she was running out of means to fight him, to fight her heart. There was Natty, but Jax was a part of her, too, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Raising her voice so as to be heard over the silky, deep purr of his Dyna, Tara demanded, “where did you go that morning?”  
  
“What morning?” By the look on Jax’s face, Tara could tell that he wasn’t playing dumb - a tactic he had used to avoid her questions when they were kids. Instead, he wanted her to be more explicit; he wanted her to put into words how the morning she was asking about was only made memorable by the things they shared, the things they did together, the night before it.   
  
“Damn it, Jax,” Tara wouldn’t give in; she wouldn’t relent. She was supposed to be in control. She returned to Charming. She had an agenda. Yet, it seemed like, since the moment she walked back into his town, Jax had unknowingly been calling the shots. If in only this one instance, she wasn’t going to allow him to have his way. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. What I’m asking.”  
  
His bafflement as to why this mattered sobered his face, and that was all the answer Tara needed to know that, wherever Jax had gone, it wasn’t to someone or something that would hurt her. Yet, he answered her anyway, holding out his right hand in invitation to help her climb on the back of his bike. “I was on call at the garage, and a tow came in. By the time I was finished, you’d already left for the hospital.”  
  
Tara didn’t respond in words, her actions… like so many other times over the course of their long, complicated, passionate, damning relationship… as she wrapped herself around Jax speaking for her. Before he pulled out of the lot, however, Jax reached back and tightened her grip around him. It was then that Tara realized he wasn’t wearing his kutte. Contradicting feelings of gratitude and dismay sent a stab of pain to her heart, and she bowed her now helmet clad head forward, resting it upon the shoulders tense with burdens unknown and kept secret from the man to whom they belonged.   
  
Tara didn’t lift her head until they stopped, until Jax turned off the bike’s engine and the rumbling vibrations beneath them ceased. Once she did, it was dark. No street lights. No glow from inside any of the neighboring houses. No decorative solar lawn lanterns. But Tara didn’t need light to see where Jax had taken her.   
  
She scrambled off the bike before he even had a chance to help her, unstrapping the helmet and pulling it from her head in one fluid, never to be forgotten movement. She held it dangling in her hand as she rounded the front of the motorcycle so she could confront Jax, face him, look him in the eyes as she accused, “you said you’d take me home.”  
  
He didn’t even blink. “I did.”   
  
As Jax solemnly stared back at her through the glasses he wore for driving, Tara realized that he wasn’t playing fast and loose with possessive pronouns and being cute. They weren’t talking about the house she was renting versus the house he lived in; they were talking about each other. Jax was telling her that she belonged with him.   
  
Seventeen years ago, such a declaration would have brought Tara to her knees. It had been all she had ever wanted. But then she became pregnant, and she had their daughter, and Natalie became Tara’s home, not Jax. In a perfect world, her home would be where both her child and the father of her child were, but Jax would need to acknowledge Natty’s existence for that to be possible. So, as sweet as his sentiment that night was, all it did was piss her off, because how could he want, need, love her so much when it was convenient, when she was back in Charming, but not make a single effort to want, need, or love her and, more importantly, their child when it wasn’t easy or advantageous.   
  
But she couldn’t say any of this to him. It hurt too much, and Tara would damn well not be the one to finally bring up their daughter. If Jax wasn’t man enough to ask about his child, then he didn’t deserve to know anything about her or how much it infuriated and crushed Tara that he wasn’t the man she had believed him to be all those years ago. So, just like before, she shoved the pain aside to focus on the indignation. “You know this is not what I wanted!”  
  
The fact that she ignored his declaration seemed to spark Jax’s own temper. “Yeah, well, you sure as shit aren’t riding on the back of some other guy’s bike again. If anyone’s taking you to work, it’ll be me.”  
  
“Ugh,” Tara screamed, whipping the helmet she held in her hands towards his head. Jax ducked, the helmet missing him and landing down by the curb of his driveway. “You are such a goddamn, neanderthal prick!”  
  
“I’ve been called worse, Babe. In fact, _you_ have called me worse.” He stood, sauntered towards her, and, as if his touch was magnetically drawn to the top curve of her ass, Jax rested his hand against the small of Tara’s back, against her crow, _his_ crow, and guided her the rest of the way up the drive and to his front door, the helmet in the road forgotten for the night. “You’re losing your touch.”  
  
And his touch - even through the layers of her clothes - was enough to make her lose everything but especially her mind. Perhaps that was why Tara allowed him to lead her into his house, why she didn’t shove him away from her, and why she stood patiently while he unlocked the front door instead of running down the street and walking every single step back to her own rented house.   
  
Once they were inside, the deadbolt turned behind him and the lights flipped on, Jax dropped his hand from Tara’s back so as to maneuver them through the narrow entrance. Although she followed him into the kitchen, the fact that he wasn’t touching her anymore allowed Tara to think once again. “I can’t believe you’re pissed about someone else giving me a lift to work. It was Opie for christ’s sake, Jax. He’s your best friend.”  
  
“Exactly. Ope knows better.” She scoffed, rolled her eyes, but Jax persisted. “Don’t,” he barked, apparently not appreciating her dismissal. They stood across from one another several feet apart… as though they were facing off in an old fashioned duel. And maybe they were. While they weren’t fighting with actual guns, when it came to their relationship, Jax and Tara had never needed weapons to hurt one another. Words had always been more than sufficient. “You, perhaps more than anyone else, know what this shit means.”  
  
“Meant, Jax. What it meant. You have no claim on me now. Haven’t for years.”  
  
He took a predatory step closer to her. “That tattoo - _my tattoo_ \- on your back says differently.”  
  
Tara notched up her chin in challenge, in confrontation, in contradiction. “I’ll make an appointment for its removal tomorrow. It’s something I should have done _a long_ time ago.”  
  
A few more steps towards Tara on Jax’s part and the distance that had been between them disappeared. If she breathed, she would touch him. So, Tara held her breath - fearing his nearness, fearing what he would say next, fearing that, when she finally caved and pulled air back into her lungs again, she’d lose more than just the remaining space between them. When Jax spoke, his voice was suddenly softer. Tara wouldn’t call it sweet, but it was certainly intimate and carried a weight of significance and sincerity that had the power to break her. “Tara, you can leave Charming.” _You can leave me._ “You can run so far away that no one can find you.” _You can run so far away that I won’t even bother to look for you._ “And you can remove _my_ ink from your skin, but I will always be a part of you. Be inside of you.”  
  
Because of Natalie, Jax had no idea, could not possibly comprehend, how very true his words actually were.   
  
“Too bad I can’t say the same,” Tara countered.   
  
“What the hell are you talking about,” Jax demanded, suddenly irritated again. “I’m not the one who left, who….”  
  
“You married another woman, Jax,” Tara cried, throwing up her arms and gesturing around the same kitchen that she could suddenly not look at without seeing Jax there with someone else. “You had a child with her! A son!”  
  
“It should have been you.” Jax spun her around so suddenly that Tara had to reach out and steady herself by grabbing ahold of his table. “It was supposed to be you.” Before she had a chance to adjust, to grasp what was happening, Jax was widening Tara’s stance by slipping his body between her legs, the shift in positions and his spread palm against the flat of her back pushing her down so that she was laying on top of the smooth, cool, wooden surface. “And he was supposed to be ours.”   
  
The rattle of Jax’s belt, the buttons and zipper on his jeans, being loosened and the rustle of fabric as he pulled Tara’s scrub bottoms and underwear down just far enough so that her sex was exposed was all the warning she had before he was deep inside of her once again.   
  
But, then, that was it. There was nothing else. Jax didn’t move inside of her. He didn’t pull out and thrust back inside. He just… stayed. Before Tara could fully grasp his sudden display of control… let alone actually analyze it, she felt him jostling her shirts up her torso, and, suddenly, it made sense. Or so she thought. Tara could recall all the times Jax had taken her like this throughout their past, had fucked her this way, and she knew, if he thrust in her just so, and she met him with her hips just right, and the light caught on her skin just perfectly, then Jax said that it looked like her crow, _his crow_ , was moving. Flying. So, when he started to nudge her scrub top and tank up her body, Tara assumed that’s what Jax wanted.   
  
But he didn’t stop there. As he held himself still inside of her… and she wasn’t sure how he was managing such control, such restraint - her own hips starting to buck against him as she physically screamed for him to just fuck her already, Tara felt Jax grasp her hands and raise them above her head. She tried to grip the edge of the table, believing that he was silently telling her that she would need to hold on tight while he rode her into oblivion, but Jax unwound her fingers from the wooden top before removing her clothing as far as he could. The shirts became bunched up around her shoulders, and Tara finally took pity on him… or maybe she took pity on herself, because, if Jax didn’t get on with it soon, she thought she might explode from arousal, from desire, from longing, reaching back and pulling them off, the fabric falling forgotten to the floor beneath them. The last brush of cotton had barely left her long, skilled fingers before Jax was right there again. In the back of Tara’s mind, she recognized that, before he wove their fingers together once again, Jax had unsnapped her bra and removed his own shirt - leaving them skin on skin, but that awareness was quickly overshadowed by the realization that Jax - her sweet boy, her rebellious and impenetrable outlaw, her complex and confusing man - wasn’t going to fuck her.  
  
He was going to love her.   
  
Not only did Jax weave their fingers together, holding onto her hands as though, if he were to let go, she and not her crow, _his crow_ , would fly away, but he blanketed her entire body with his own. His weight should have been oppressive, and the sheer heat of his body did scald her with the past memories and current stirrings of her feelings for him - feelings that, despite their tangled nature, would never completely fade nor ever entirely be transferred onto their child, but Tara relished his closeness, his heaviness. It made the entire moment too real to be dismissed as a dream, as a nightmare, as a fantasy, as a shadow of their past.   
  
Jax’s thrusts were slow, long, and deep. They lingered. It felt like he was dragging himself within her, forcing her to feel every ridge, every vein, every single sliver of him as he didn’t just attempt to bury himself inside of her; he tried to merge the two of them together. Even after they both climaxed, even after he finally pulled out of her body, in that moment, Tara felt like she would forever be able to feel him _there_ \- in recesses of her body only he had ever touched, next to her womb which had only ever carried his baby, would only ever carry his baby. While Jax didn’t know that, for seventeen years, the ghost of him, Tara’s sunshine boy… who gave her her sunshine girl, had always been there. Now, however, so, too, would be the man.   
  
It was tender. _He_ was tender. And the dichotomy of that in contrast with the coldness, the aloofness, the disregard, and the outright rejection of their daughter would have made Tara collapse in heartache and grief if Jax’s own body wasn’t eclipsing hers and holding her in place. It did bring tears to her eyes - tears that she just… let fall, tears that, even if she wanted to wipe them away and hide them from Jax, Tara couldn’t, because Jax had claimed her hands for himself and had given her his in return. And she wouldn’t give him her sorrow. He could have her body, and he could even have her love, because Tara could admit, at least to herself, that there was nothing Jax Teller could do that would ever make her stop loving him, but he couldn’t have the ache and agony of her love for their child, the distress his denial of Natty caused her.   
  
He also couldn’t have her confusion. If he could love her so much - over time, and distance, and misunderstandings, and abandonment, how could he not love their little girl? Or was that the crux of the matter? Was that Natalie’s great sin - the fact that she was born a daughter and not a son? Because, when Tara threw it in Jax’s face that he had a child with another woman, he told her that it should have been their _son_. Despite the club, despite Gemma’s best efforts, and despite the way Jax had been raised, never once during their long and sordid relationship did Jax ever make her feel less than simply because she was a woman. At nineteen, Gemma had played on her fears of a daughter not being loved as much as a son, but Jax wasn’t a child himself any longer, and Tara hadn’t once considered that Jax wouldn’t love a little girl in his own way… let alone acknowledge her. But now… after years to grow up and mature, after years of loss and love, she was thrown by Jax not wanting to know his daughter. When he should have been pulling Natalie as close as he possibly could, he wouldn’t even say her name.  
  
Yet, he held Tara so close, so tightly, the imprint of his touch would be with her moving forward forevermore.   
  
Did Jax simply not have room in his heart to love the both of them? As soon as Tara had the thought, she dismissed it. No one had a bigger, more complicated yet earnest heart than Jackson Teller. So, maybe it was resentment. Maybe Jax blamed Natalie for taking Tara away from him; maybe he bedrudged their daughter the part of Tara’s heart that she now owned instead of him. But having their little girl had only made Tara love Jax just that much more. As she felt him bury his face in her neck as he submerged his cock one last time just that much deeper, just that much harder, just that much further inside of Tara’s heat, _finally_ triggering both of their orgasms, as she felt more than heard him breathe _‘I love you,’_ into her skin like a brand, Tara acknowledged that none of her explanations, none of her justifications, made sense. She was missing something - something important, but she would allow her questions to fester and smart, because they were exactly what she needed to stay focused, to make sure that she didn’t forget why she was there - in Charming, in Jax’s house, his kitchen, his body held captive in hers - and why she needed him. It would be so easy to fall back into Jax and never find herself again, but she would make sure that the living torment that was the father of her child would bring her back to herself and, more importantly, bring her back to their daughter, to Natalie.  
  
Some time later - maybe it had been just a few minutes, or hours could have gone by, or sometimes Tara now felt like, when Jax entered her, they were those stupid, blind, and idealistic in love kids again and, when he pulled out of her, seventeen years had passed them by, and they were the strangers in love that they now were to each other, Tara found herself sitting on the floor, cradling Jax in her lap. The tableau they made should have been ridiculous, absurd - she naked from the thighs up, her pants and panties pushed down so that her bare ass warmed the tile beneath her, her shoes still on; and Jax, eyes, nose, and mouth nestled into Tara’s belly, the same belly which had, nearly seventeen years earlier, carried and nurtured their child. He, too, still had on his pants, underwear, socks, and shoes, though Jax’s jeans and boxers were ringed around his ankles.   
  
With breathing deep and even - steady in its contentedness, Jax just laid there, reveling in Tara’s closeness, her touch. In turn, she ran her long, lean digits through his close cropped, locks, studying his face for reminders of the boy he once was and signs of the man he had become. While Tara could see the lines which now radiated out from the corners of his changeable eyes, and while she could see the hints of silver which would soon be lightening his white blond hair to that much more of a blinding, brilliant shade, he was still very much the image of the guy she carried around in her heart and shared with their daughter. She looked for some kind of sign, some kind of explanation, as to why he didn’t seem to want to see, to know, to hear about the other image, that of their child, that she kept inside of her, at the core of who she was, close, and sheltered, and protected, and loved.   
  
“Abel was a mistake.”  
  
Jax paused, and Tara’s hand stilled, and they were at a sort of impasse as to who would react first. Tara wasn’t sure if Jax was afraid of her response to his simple yet powerful statement or if he just didn’t know what else to say. Or maybe _how_ to say it. But this wasn’t something she could help him with. It had to be uncensored, uncomplicated, the truth… no matter how ugly and unpleasant it might be. Yet, she did resume her caresses of his face - it’s how she had always soothed Natty, too, dropping her fingers down to run the backs of them against the fair facial hair of his chin, upper lip, and jawline and the contrasting smoothness of his cheeks, his temples, the bridge of his nose, his forehead.   
  
“I know that’s a shit thing to say,” Jax confessed as he lifted and turned his head from Tara’s abdomen but still remained laying in her lap. “But I would have been a shit father… just like I was a shit husband to Wendy.” Tara found Jax’s word choice interesting, worrisome. He would have made a shit father? But, by the time Abel was conceived, Jax had already been a father - granted an absentee one - for more than a decade. She held her tongue, saved and stockpiled her questions. If Jax Teller would talk to anyone, it would be her, but it was rare when he was this honest - even with her - about his feelings, about his fears, about his own self-doubts, about his regrets.   
  
“I married her for all of the wrong reasons. I was lonely, and she was easy… or, at least, I thought she was. Wendy was… needy. Dependent. She needed validation from others, couldn’t find it within herself, and, when she didn’t get it, then she tried to numb and forget about that part of herself. Booze, weed, coke. Anything, really, that she could get her hands on, but it was usually crank. Meth. I knew she used,” Jax admitted, shrugging his shoulders. His brow was furrowed in thought, in recollection, and, though he was still physically and emotionally present with Tara in that room, she knew that he was also looking back upon the past, his past without her, at the same time.   
  
So, when he suddenly met her gaze head-on, Tara was startled, her touch stopping momentarily… only to resume once Jax started speaking again. “You know how they used to arrange marriages, and you’d read about how people would eventually learn to love their wives? Maybe they weren’t _in_ love with them, not like….” When his words trailed off, Tara mentally finished the thought for Jax. _Not like the way that I was in love with you._ “So, I thought maybe our marriage could be like that. We got along well enough, and she fit in with the club. Plus, my mom suggested it.”  
  
Oh, Tara just bet Gemma had! Wendy was the _perfect_ wife for Jax as far as Gemma was concerned. Weak, easily manipulated and controlled, she would have been yet another puppet Gemma could use to steer her son in the direction she wanted him to go. With no competing interests or dreams of her own, Wendy wouldn’t try to pull Jax away from Gemma, Charming, and the club either. Essentially, she was the exact opposite of Tara… so, everything Gemma had ever wanted for her son, the addiction issues and weakness of character mere obstacles if not outright perks.   
  
“We split after less than a year. It was… a disaster. The very reasons why I was supposed to like her just pissed me off. I hated that she allowed me to walk all over her, that she didn’t fight back when I fucked a cro-eater or dismissed her in front of the guys. It irritated me that she was like every other girl who hung around the clubhouse. So, I left, and she went to rehab, and, when she came back out, despite the fact that I had filed for divorce, I was still lonely, still looking for… just more, and we ended up sleeping together.”  
  
Jax sighed, blinked heavily.  “She was supposed to be on birth control, and I used a condom. Always did. But I guess… law of averages, right? Those things aren’t bulletproof, and who knows what crazy ideas my mom was feeding her about babies and winning me back. She probably talked her off the pill. So, Wendy ended up pregnant, and I still left, divorce papers signed. When she told me about Abel, I didn’t want him. At least, not with….” Tara found herself holding her breath in anticipation of just how exactly Jax would finish that thought, in apprehension of under what conditions he would have wanted his son, in knowledge of exactly what and who he meant. “But, anyway, it was too late, and he was my responsibility, so I gave her the house, and I gave her money, and I gave myself as much distance as I could possibly put between us while still living in the same town. She used the money for crank instead of baby supplies, and Abel was born ten weeks early, doubly doomed.”  
  
This - Abel Teller’s medical history - Tara already knew, for she had read his file as soon as she could get her hands on it without raising suspicions at St. Thomas. But she let Jax tell his story in his own words, never interrupting, never interpreting medically. “He had the same heart defects that Thomas ended up dying from and a hole in his belly from the drugs. Wendy overdosed the day she went into labor. She lived; Abel died. But at least he didn’t die in vain.  
  
“His death made me realize that there were things about my life that weren’t right - some of them even objections you had made years before, but I guess I wasn’t ready to hear them then.” The bitter, petty part of Tara wondered why the birth of his daughter and subsequently losing her due to his own disinterest hadn’t been enough to wake Jax up to the truth of Charming and Samcro. “Then, some seriously fucked up shit went down with the club, but I’m not sure I would have been able to see everything for what it was if Abel’s death hadn’t opened my eyes.”  
  
Tara was still processing everything Jax had told her when he abruptly stood up. In a matter of seconds, he’d managed to kick off both of his shoes, remove his socks, hopping around on the kitchen floor, and shucked his pants and boxers, leaving everything exactly where they fell. Completely nude, he crouched down in front of Tara who was still sprawled out on the tile. Whereas his own undressing had been rushed and perfunctory, Jax took his time removing the rest of the clothes Tara wore. He carefully untied her tennis shoes and then set them aside, folding her socks off of her feet and then placing them inside of their respective shoes. Next, he tugged her pants and panties off… even taking the time to fold them once they were clear of her legs and feet. It wasn’t until he was finished - still kneeling and naked before her own entirely bare form that Tara responded out loud to everything Jax had confided in her.   
  
“I… I don’t know what to say.”  
  
He shook his head sadly, a regretful yet accepting smile curling up the corners of his full mouth. “There’s nothing to say, Babe.”  
  
And then he shocked the hell out of Tara by picking her up… only he didn’t toss her over his shoulder like he had done so many times in the past - the position just too tempting as it afforded him the perfect invitation to smack her ass. Instead, he cradled her in his arms. If she didn’t know any better, Tara would have said he carried her like a bride, the threshold they crossed an emotional one rather than physical.   
  
What _the hell_ was going on?  
  
It seemed like the more Tara learned about thirty-six year old Jax, the less he was the man she was expecting to find and the more he was the man she had always hoped he could be.   
  
Well, except for when it came to Natty.


	8. Part III - D and E

**D.**

This time, Natalie did nothing to hide her injuries.  
  
The simple, obvious explanation as to why was that there were simply too many to disguise with a dropped chin or flowing hair, but Tara’s daughter had never been merely just what she appeared. Jacqueline Natalie Teller was much more complex than that - a blue eyed, blonde haired labyrinth. So, Tara looked closer. She studied her daughter as she walked across the busy visiting room. It was either distract herself and focus on something she could succeed at - and she had always been able to understand what motivated her only child - or break into a million little fragments of sorrow and rage, paralyzed by her inability to do anything to help her baby girl.   
  
Nats didn’t make it easy. Her face was an icy mask, empty and unmoving. Her normally so turbulent eyes were a summer’s day - calm and weightless. There were no flashes of silver sparks or bursts of that violent violet Tara knew so well from Jax’s gaze when in a temper. If Natty was in discomfort - and Tara couldn’t see how she possibly couldn’t be, she didn’t give anything away. Instead, she gave off the air that her bruises and cuts were beauty marks, the sling on her right arm as much a natural part of her as her high cheekbones and long, graceful fingers. There were no backwards glances to make sure that she was safe, and her steps - no, strides - were sure and confident. Too confident. Almost as though she was… preening.  
  
And, suddenly, Tara was sixteen years old again and watching Jackson Teller swagger through the halls of Charming High as if he owned the whole goddamn world. And the world _liked_ it.   
  
Tara didn’t know if she should laugh or cry in reaction to her realization, but then Natty was there, and she was smirking that enigmatic Teller grin, and she was knocking her chin up like Jax always did when he was feeling particularly cocky, and she was snarking, “you should see the other bitch.”  
  
“Someday, I am going to wrap my hands around his neck and never let go,” Tara whispered in response. She didn’t know if she meant Kohn for putting Natalie in the position where she could be hurt, where she had to hurt someone else in order to save herself, or Jax for, without even spending a single second with his daughter, being the single most dominating influence upon who Natalie was.   
  
“Mom, relax,” Nats told her, rolling her eyes and behaving as though Tara was the one overreacting. “It wasn’t a guard this time. I’m cool with them now.” She didn’t correct her daughter’s assumption, for Nats’ explanation of Tara’s exclamation was far safer… for the both of them. “But I’m liking this new, primal you. Where have you been my whole life? Is this dad’s influence?”  
  
It was. There was something about being with Jax that, for Tara, was immensely freeing. But it was more than that, too. It was fighting for her daughter’s very life versus just giving and maintaining that life. It was finally hating someone so much again that she could imagine making her threats a reality. It was finding that elemental part of herself that she had lost nearly seventeen years before when she left Charming and the innocence of her childhood and first love behind.   
  
But Natalie _never_ needed to know any of that.  
  
Rather than answering, Tara led them over to the table where they were to sit. She ached to give her only child a hug, to just… make sure that she was actually real, and solid, and alive, but, underneath Natty’s bravado was a very battered body, one that did not need her mother squeezing out the last dregs of her feigned strength. Plus, if there was anything more than hyperbole to Nats’ remarks about her opponent being in a worse state than Natalie, then Tara probably shouldn’t ruin any credibility her daughter had managed to create for herself by showing anything less than the brashness set by her daughter’s example.   
  
Once they were seated - and Tara did not fail to notice the wince which told her that Natalie had suffered some kind of rib injury as well, she demanded answers. “Now, do you want to tell me what the hell happened?”  
  
Hands folded serenely in front of her, Natalie played it with a poker face. “I tripped.”  
  
“Damn it, Jacqueline Natalie Teller, cut the bullshit!”  
  
“Ooh, you used the whole kindergartener torture device otherwise known as my full name. You must be serious.”  
  
“Yes, well, a mother tends to lay off the humor when her daughter has been roughed over in federal prison,” Tara returned impertinence with impertinence. “Now, you can either give me a run down of your injuries and explain the circumstances under which you received them, or I will march out of his visitation room in…,” and she paused to look up at the standard clock on the wall, “... fifty-one minutes and demand to speak to the person in charge of the infirmary. Your choice.”  
  
“Fine,” Natalie relented with a roll of her eyes, though there wasn’t any actual heat of irritation behind the gesture. Instead, it was a token display of sixteen year old attitude. “But, before we get to me, let me just say that I wasn’t joking when I said I held my own. Hell, I more than held my own. I beat the shit out of that woman.”  
  
“I don’t know if I should be glad that you’re capable of defending yourself or scared that, by the time I manage to clear your name, you’ll still be locked up on charges of assault.” Then, realizing she was missing a vital piece of information, Tara demanded to know, “how the hell do you even know how to fight, anyway?”  
  
“You don’t honestly think that all of my time at the clubhouse was spent selling Harley decals and biker paraphernalia in the shop, do you? I box, mom. And well. Like… really well.”  
  
As Tara’s eyes flickered down to Natty’s knuckles, she saw a very familiar, red and tender yet ringless sight. “Sometimes, kid, I swear it’s like I don’t even know _you_ , that, instead, I’m just watching your father relive his life.” Not wanting to invite further discussion of Jax, Tara quickly reverted their conversation back to her original concerns. “Alright, so you won, but at what cost?” Using her right hand to motion in a ‘give me’ fashion, Tara ordered, “I want the injury run down.”  
  
And then the detached, proficient recitation began. “My ribs aren’t broken, just bruised, and my shoulder was dislocated. The sling is just for discomfort after getting it popped back into place and to prevent it from slipping back out again. I still have all 32 of my teeth. The bruises and cuts you see are all superficial. Nothing required sutures. I mean, I won’t lie,” and there was Tara’s sarcastic girl. “I’d just about kill - joking! - for a heating pad right about now, but I’m just glad no one has shaved my eyebrows or cut my hair off while I was sleeping.”  
  
“Natalie,” Tara sighed, exasperated. She wasn’t sure if her daughter still failed to grasp the seriousness of the situation, or if she was just trying to lighten the burden of Tara’s fears - an impossible endeavor. “This isn’t summer camp. You should be concerned with getting shivved in the shower, not about how you’ll look in your prison ID photo.”  
  
“Good thing I got my tattoo on my right side, huh? I’d hate for someone to mess up my ink going for a heart shot.”  
  
Tara wasn’t even going to touch that remark. She didn’t have the patience… nor the self-control... to dignify Natty’s glibness, her cavalier regard for her own safety. Tara wasn’t unfamiliar with gallows humor. It was something many doctors and surgeons used in order to help deal with the loss of patients. But Natalie wasn’t some stranger on her operating table; she was her only child, her baby, her sunshine girl, and Tara couldn’t joke about the idea that someone sent after her daughter would know basic human anatomy well enough to slip a shank between her left ribs and not her right if going for a kill shot.   
  
Refocusing them once more, Tara asked, “and what was the fight about?”  
  
Natalie seemed to recognize that her mother was all quipped out. Sobering, she told her, “ _someone_ oh so _not_ conveniently for me let it slip what I’m in here for, and let’s just say that it wasn’t the truth: that me getting arrested and sent to prison was the strangest, sickest attempt at seduction in the history of dating. So, now, I’m the girl who sold the guns that shot and killed boyfriends, husbands, brothers, fathers. But, hey, silver lining, apparently, I don’t discriminate; I’m an equal opportunity illegal arms dealer, all cultures and races welcome.   
  
“Between fighting back and doing so well and pointing out how ludicrous it would be for a neonatal surgeon’s only child to resort to selling guns in between class periods… not to mention the fact that, if I really did deal with every crime group, I’d already be dead, I think most women - the smarter ones - will back down. There will still be a few idiots, but that’s to be expected. Prison is just a fashionably challenged, industrially fed microcosm of life on the outside when it comes to the spectrum of intelligences found within and the complexity of human relations. Just wait until I’m released and writing my college application essays. Those ivy league admissions boards won’t know what hit…..”  
  
“Oh, god, Natty, I’m so sorry!” Tara interrupted, needing to stop her daughter’s forced optimism. Not only was it heartbreaking to watch - after all, as the mother, she was the one who was supposed to be buoying spirits and allaying her daughter’s fears, but, quite frankly, Tara didn’t feel like she deserved Nats’ positivity... as disingenuous as it may be. “This is all my fault! I caused this; I’m the one who is responsible for you getting hurt.”  
  
“Mom, we’ve been over this already,” Natalie argued. “You did absolutely _nothing_ to encourage Kohn. His fixation on you and subsequent targeting of me was born from literal madness. Was it shit luck that you just so happened to be the woman set up on a blind date with him - a blind date that, let me remind you, you only accepted and went out on at my insistence? Yes. But that by no means makes you culpable for any of this.”  
  
“While I appreciate that, Natalie, and, while I’m glad that you don’t blame me, you don’t understand.” At her daughter’s single brow raised in doubtful inquiry, Tara expanded, “This - you being targeted and in even more danger - is my punishment. Kohn must be watching me. He must be watching me, and he saw me with your father.”  
  
“Well, considering the fact that he orchestrated this entire machination in order to force you to go after dad and put him away in exchange for my freedom only then to expect you to submit to his sick and twisted obsession with you, how the hell he thought you’d be able to do that without…. Oh.” Tara did not like the sound of that. “ _Ooh!_ ” And she _really_ did not like the sound of that either. The mad with glee, the giddy with impudence giggles which followed were an even more dangerous reaction - one foretelling of impending mortification on Tara’s part. Natalie leaned across the table, snatching up her mother’s gaze, and refused to break eye contact as she accused with admiration, “you’re sleeping with dad!”  
  
“We are not talking about this,” Tara snapped.  
  
“Oh my god,” Natalie just continued to tease, to taunt, to traumatize Tara. “You’re not just sleeping together; you’re fucking. Like rabbits. Like horny, little, baby making, nineteen year old rabbits.” Tara wanted to melt into the floor; she needed someone to grab a fire extinguisher and put out the living flames that were her cheeks. “Normally, I’d be horrified to even contemplate my parents’ sex life, but you guys deserve this, and, Mom, it’s been _so_ long for you.”  
  
Ignoring all of… _that_ , Tara protested, “but Kohn….”  
  
“Kohn can just suck it! If you and dad are back together again, Mom, then that means that you’re working with dad to get me out of here instead of against him, and, while I know the last seventeen years should be proof to the contrary, that’s such a good thing.”  
  
She could only disappoint her daughter so much. “Natalie, your father and I aren’t… _together_. We’re just…. Well, seeing as how you’re sixteen and, apparently, know far more about sex - particularly me and sex - than I think I’ll ever be comfortable with, I’m going to be frank with you, alright?” Nats nodded eagerly. It would have been disturbing if it wasn’t so damn sweet. Natty’s excitement over the idea of her parents reuniting made her seem so much younger, so much more naive and innocent, than her situation would suggest. Well… at least it would if she wasn’t so crass - accurately so - in her assumptions. “When Jax and I are near each other, it’s… combustible - dangerously so and unhealthy. But we just can’t… help ourselves. Or stop. But that’s _not_ a relationship, Nats.”  
  
“It’s a hell of a lot closer to one than the two of you have been since I was an avocado.”  
  
Needing to change the topic before Natalie could build up her hopes too high or before Tara accidentally let it slip just how unlikely the perfect family picture Nats was constructing in her mind was considering that Jax wouldn’t even recognize that he had a daughter, she distracted her only child with, “you need to write the warden and request a specific, special piece of reading material.”  
  
From conversation whiplash, Natalie shook her head. “What?”  
  
“I found an old manuscript of your grandfather’s. It’s John Teller’s thoughts and feelings about the Sons of Anarchy. I thought you might like to read it, but it’s just a bunch of typed, loose leaf papers. No binding, certainly no formal printing, so it can’t be mailed directly from a vendor or publisher.”  
  
“Define found.”  
  
“Do you want to read it or not,” Tara threatened her impossible, impertinent child.   
  
For the rest of Tara’s visit, they discussed the procedure they would need to follow in order for Natalie to secure permission to read _The Life and Death of Sam Crow: How the Sons of Anarchy Lost Their Way_. Just like with every other trip she had made to the prison, the hour went by quickly - too quickly, and, before Tara knew it, she was walking back outside and facing another 167 hours before she’d be able to see for herself that her daughter was still alright… or at least as okay as Natty could be given the situation and her circumstances. And, just like all of her other visits, she left with a renewed sense of purpose, of drive, of determination, of confidence that she would somehow, someway save her daughter.  
  
Now, she just needed to get Jax to unwittingly cooperate.   
  
Oh, and, in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt if she could secure some protection on the inside for Natalie as well.

   
  


**E.**  
  
As Tara climbed out of the cab which had brought her all the way back to Charming from Sacramento International Airport - the cost of the trip worth every penny and more if it meant seeing her daughter, she never paused in her conversation as the driver handed her the receipt through his window before backing out the drive and pulling away. “There has to be something we can do! What about ad seg?”  
  
“Tara, I know you’ve told me that the charges against Jacqueline are bogus. And I believe you,” Natty’s lawyer reassured. After Natalie had been arrested, Tara had called the MC where her daughter worked… and, apparently, boxed. While it was nothing like Samcro - it was a small, independent _actual_ club with membership dues, and community service requirements, and absolutely no illegal activities, they still knew people, things. Tara had asked for recommendations on who to hire to legally represent Nats, and the club had come through. “But let’s say that whatever you’re doing - and I _really_ do not want to know what that is - doesn’t work, and she is arraigned. Maybe we could justify ad seg for now, but it wouldn’t last forever, so she would have to return to gen pop, and then what? Not only would the other women think she was the girl who sold the guns that killed their loved ones, but they’d also believe her to be a rat.”  
  
Juggling her cell between her shoulder and tilted head, her ever-present satchel which was one biker manifesto lighter than it had been when she left for Chicago that morning, having left it with Natty’s lawyer for delivery if and when the special reading material request was approved, and her keys, Tara let herself into the mostly barren rental house. “What about moving her? Could we request a transfer,” she asked, flipping on the overhead light. Tara thought she was alone; she thought it was safe to speak so frankly with Natty’s attorney. Only… she wasn’t.   
  
A pissed off, self-righteous, spoiling for a fight Jax was standing across the room from her - legs braced apart, arms folded across his chest. Again, his kutte was nowhere in sight.   
  
Without warning, Tara simply said, “I’ll have to call you back,” ending her call. She wasn’t sure where her iPhone ended up - did she set it down, or did it simply fall limply from her fingers; all she knew was that she could no longer feel her hands. They had gone numb; _she_ had gone numb. “What the hell are you doing here?!”  
  
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jax bit out.  
  
“ _I_ live here,” Tara defended. But, actually, the answer was just to buy herself some time, to stall. Because she knew that what Jax was asking her was bigger than why she was standing in that house, and he knew that she was aware of what he was really asking, too. But Tara needed something else from him, something more, before she could respond with any sort of honesty. Just how much exactly had he figured out about her return to California, to Charming, to him?  
  
“You know that’s not what I mean, Tara. Why are you really back in Charming, and don’t give me some bullshit excuse about your job. You and I both know there’s nothing St. Thomas could possibly offer you that would come anywhere close to Chicago Presbyterian.”   
  
Tara sucked in a pained breath. He knew? He knew enough about her career to rattle off the name of her previous employer… like it was something he thought about, spoke about, all the time, and, yet, he didn’t know her well enough to realize that the only thing about her that she actually wanted him to care about was their daughter?   
  
She didn’t respond, but Jax didn’t seem inclined to wait for an actual answer. In fact, in his arrogance, he seemed to act like he already had everything figured out. “Because your car was done - and, curious enough, nobody could find anything wrong with it, by the way, I drove it to the hospital tonight - thought I’d pick you up, and then you could take me home this time. Only… you weren’t there. Apparently, you _always_ have Thursdays off.” As he laid her crimes as he saw them at her feet, Jax refused to break eye contact with Tara. He didn’t even blink. So, when she looked away and bit her lip in disconcertion, he started to stalk his way towards her only stopping when the pristine paleness of his ubiquitous tennis shoes was pressed up against the toes of her chunky heeled boots. Drawn back to his gaze because his nearness, Tara turned to face him once more. “Yeah, that’s right, Babe. I asked. In fact, the helpful, meddlesome nurse told me all about it, how Thursdays off was your only condition in agreeing to take the job in the first place.  
  
“So, why, if you weren’t working today, did you insist that I take you back to your house this morning to change… into clean scrubs that you’re very clearly not wearing now… before dropping you off at the hospital?”  
  
Tara breathed a sigh of relief. Jax knew nothing that would prevent her from accomplishing what she had set out to do when relocating back to Charming. In fact, he didn’t know much of anything. His suspicions could prove to be annoying - a roadblock between Tara and her goal. Her objective. Her reason for doing... anything at that point. But their current confrontation was not about Natalie, or Kohn, or Samcro. So, Tara allowed his wounded pride and sensitive male ego, his posturing acrimony and unjustified bitterness, to fuel her own resentment and rage. Coolly, she remarked, “frankly, I don’t see how this is any of your business.”   
  
And she tried to walk away from him, too, but Jax snagged her arm, pulling her back. “It’s my business, because _you_ are my business - always have been; always will be. And it’s my business, because you’re lying to me, Tara. You’re hiding something… or maybe I should say someone.”   
  
“You’re being paranoid, Jax!”  
  
He just ignored her, bulldozing forward with his ugly accusations. “So, what is it? Did you marry some limp-dick pussy who can’t satisfy you in bed, so you ran back to Charming, because you knew I could fuck you good and right, just the way you like it?”  
  
She lifted her hand to slap him, “you arrogant prick!,” but Jax caught her wrist before her palm could make contact with his face. He didn’t let go either - now gripping both of her arms and holding her hostage to his flawed indictment.   
  
“Is that it, Tara? Are you using me to cheat on some clueless fool of a husband?”  
  
And, with that, Tara just… shut down. Her anger fizzled in favor of the hurt Jax’s recriminations made her feel. The fact that he could think such things about her sliced deeply. While Tara knew his attack was coming from a place of pain as well, that did not justify the terrible things he was saying to her. Tara also knew that, when injured, Jax’s first instinct was to lash out and return the wound - a bruise for a bruise, a cut for a cut. “Jax, I’m not married. _I_ would not cheat. I wouldn’t do that to my husband, to you, and I certainly wouldn’t do that to myself. Hell, I have barely dated in seventeen years.” Laughing self-deprecatingly, she admitted, “do you know that the first time I had sex since leaving you was the night you pushed your way into this house, into my bed?” _Into me._  
  
Tara expected some smart-ass remark from Jax... something like ‘I know I’m good, Babe, but I didn’t know I was _that_ good,’ and she probably would have hauled off and punched him if he had said such a thing - her surgeon’s hands be damned… not because he would have been wrong but because there was no need for him to voice what they both knew to be true. Instead, though, Tara was presented with the most perplexed, astounded expression she had ever witnessed before. “Why?” And there was even a smidgeon of trepidation… like Jax was worried that something had been wrong.  
  
As if the answer was obvious… and it should have been, Tara replied, “because my life made it a little too complicated.”  
  
He smirked, snarled. It was a derisive gesture, grotesque in its cynicism. “Oh, that’s right - the _too busy, too important surgeon_ didn’t have time for a personal life, for friends, for dating, for love.” While Jax was saying one thing, what he meant was that he blamed her ambitions for taking Tara away from him.   
  
“You’re a fucking asshole, Jackson Teller!”  
  
“All I’m hearing from your lying lips are insults - no explanations, no denials.”  
  
And Tara just… reached her limit. “You know, I wasn’t going to be the one to say her name first. You needed to bring her up.” If Tara had been able to see anything beyond her own animosity and outrage, her own resentment and grief, the torture Jax’s unwillingness to love their daughter visited upon her heart and soul, then maybe she would have noticed his absolute bewilderment. But she couldn’t. “It’s one thing for me to stand here and watch you categorically refuse to acknowledge our daughter, but it’s an entirely different matter for me to allow you to deny Natalie’s very existence, to deny me as her mother.”  
  
“Tara, I don’t….” He dropped her arms, took a step away from her. There were sudden lines around his eyes, on his forehead, bracketing his mouth that she’d never seen before. For the first time, Jax looked older than his 36 years. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“Oh, god,” Tara choked on a sob. She felt like she was going to throw up; she had never felt emptier. Like a puppet master had cut her strings, Tara collapsed. She would have fallen hard on her knees if Jax didn’t charge forward, catching her around her torso and carefully pulling them both down onto the wooden floor. Eyes blurry with more tears than she could contain, Tara looked up into Jax’s genuine gaze, his own eyes pools of violet mist, clouded over with answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask, with questions he was afraid to have answered. “You didn’t know; you _never_ knew!  
  
“All those letters, all those photos I sent, hoping, waiting, willing, needing you to finally come for us… or at least just come for Natalie, but you never did.” Tara twisted her hands together tightly; she shook her head over and over and over again in denial. The manifestation of her emotional misery into physical pain did nothing to ease her heartbreak. But it did help her focus on something that was much easier to process: a hatred that was primal and potent, the salve that was her wrath. And Tara saw red. “That fucking bitch!”  
  
It wasn’t until Jax wrapped his hands from the corners of her eyes to the back of her head, his palms cradling the delicate line of her jaw, that her vision slowly came back to her. Oh, it was still glazed over with liquid feelings, but one by one - first his eyes, then his mouth, then the bridge of his nose, and then the scruff on his cheeks - his features, the sum of which made up a face more familiar to her than her own, more beloved than any other besides Natty’s, came into focus. And so, too, did her mind. Not only did she see Jax once again, but she felt him, too. She felt the strength and vitality of his touch as he cradled her face which felt both frozen and scalded from her tears; she felt his breaths as they fell against her own mouth and gave her a reason to breathe as well, intuitively timing the rhythms of her body to match his; and she felt his heart, its pounding tempo pulsing from his wrists against her neck.   
  
“My mother… Gemma, she knew?” Although Jax’s tone was measured and mild, it was obviously a study of tightly leashed self-control. “She played a part in this - you leaving me, taking our daughter?”  
  
“She followed me - to the hospital, cornered me after my appointment. I was already scared, Jax. We were _nineteen_! Then, there was the club, and you, and the danger, and this entire damn town. I never meant for your mom to find out. I was going to tell you first. But then she was just… there, and she knew every single one of my weaknesses, my fears, to prey upon.” Tara paused to gather her thoughts, to gather herself. “I… I’d just found out that we were having a little girl. I thought you’d love her… despite this. No, I _knew_ you would, but, in your world, daughters are... expendable. Unnecessary. Unneeded. Sometimes even unwanted. And I grew up someone’s burden. That disinterest, that resentment? And what if someday, when you felt forced into a marriage and parenthood before you were ready and trapped in a life you didn’t want, you grew to resent us? The very thought of my daughter living through that scared me even more than leaving you, than going through my pregnancy alone. At least I would still have the hope that maybe someday you’d choose us - me, your child - over the club. Plus, you would still be alive.”  
  
Up until that point, Jax allowed her to share her story without interruptions. While there were moments when she could see that he wanted to argue with her, when he wanted to object and contradict, he held his tongue. It was hard enough to talk about that day all those years before and the decisions made then without having to stop and start again, without having to debate something that couldn’t be changed… even if they both wanted to. “Wait, what do you mean by that - that at least I’d still be alive?”  
  
“Jax, your world is life and death on a daily basis. The thought of you out on a run… where your very fate is dependent upon your ability to concentrate… and distracted by where we were we going to live; should we rent our own house; should we buy; how would we support a child; would we get married; should we get married; what about her health, my health; how would we pay for diapers, and formula, and clothes, and wipes, and toys, and college; would she be happy; would we be happy? It was too much. Your mother basically told me that, if something were to happen to you after you learned about the baby, then it would be my fault, and she wasn’t wrong. Plus, even before I found out that I was pregnant, I wanted to leave; I wanted a future that was more than just Charming and Samcro. So, at the time, I thought I was picking the lesser of two evils. Yes, by running away, I was going to lose your heart, but at least you would have your life, and our daughter would have the chance for a better one than what we, here, could have offered her.”  
  
“So… you just disappeared? You left, pregnant, without even giving me a say, without giving me a chance to change your mind and prove to you that everything Gemma said to you that day was wrong?” Jax’s tone trembled. His voice became that much deeper. “You didn’t even say goodbye… or give me a chance to leave with you.”  
  
“I’d already asked you to go so many times at that point, and you always said no. But I made it clear that, if you decided to come to us on your own, you would always be wanted and welcome. Just like I _did_ say goodbye… in my letter.”  
  
“I never got it.”  
  
“It wasn’t just one, Jax; I sent you _hundreds_ of letters over the years. I’d mail them to your mom’s house, to the club, to TM. Hell, I even tried sending a few to Opie’s, but those ones came back return to sender. I sent you printouts of Natalie’s perfect and healthy heartbeat from within the womb, and I sent you copies of every sonogram. When she was born, I made and sent to you a copy of her birth certificate with your name clearly marked down as her father. I sent you pictures and anecdotes of every milestone… even some that I’m pretty sure I made up like ‘the first time Natty put her toes in her mouth’ and ‘the first time she pooped in the bathtub.’ I even started to send you some of Nats’ artwork when she got older. And every time I wrote to you, I always ended my letters with the exact same words: _I miss you, Jax. Natalie misses her Daddy. We both love you - so much! Yours forever, Tara and Natty.”_  
  
Before Tara could comprehend what was happening, Jax was surging to his feet and moving towards the door. “I’ll fucking kill her!”  
  
And Tara became hysterical. “No, Jax! No, you can’t!” Stumbling until she was standing as well, she chased after him. Tara curled her fingers into the back of Jax’s t-shirt. She used that grip to then wrap her arms around him from behind, burying her face between his shoulder blades. She was sobbing, and screaming, and pleading, and begging. “Oh god, no, you can’t! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t!”  
  
Jax twisted in her embrace, fighting against her grip, until he was facing her once more. Distantly, Tara recognized that she was shaking. Her breathing was fast, but she wasn’t actually taking in any oxygen. Her throat felt tight, her chest solid, her head fuzzy, her limbs dissociated and weak. “Tara, Baby, you need to breathe,” Jax implored her. “You’re having a panic attack.” When that didn’t work, his appeals became demands. “Damn it, Tara. Breathe. Calm down.” His hands came up to her shoulders, and he even shook her slightly… as if trying to shock her back into herself.   
  
But nothing worked.  
  
Eventually, Jax guided Tara over to the sole piece of furniture in the room - a futon serving as a couch - and made her sit before temporarily leaving her side. When he returned, he had her medical kit - the one she had been keeping since Jax first became a prospect when they were just teenagers, though it now contained supplies legally unavailable to her all those years before. He pulled out a vial, and he pulled out a syringe, and then he was pulling the sedative into the syringe’s barrel before inelegantly injecting the syringe’s needle into her left arm.   
  
The last thing Tara saw before she lost consciousness was Jax wiping tears from his eyes. But he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t erase, them all. One fell. And Tara slept.


	9. Part IV - A and B

**Part IV**

**A.**

The first thing Tara did when she woke was reach for Jax.  
  
He wasn’t there.  
  
In self-recrimination, she clenched her dry and sandy with sleep eyes shut even tighter. One night. She spent one night in his home, in his bed, in his arms, and now, what, her body instinctively fell back into that routine, expecting that he would still be there in the morning when she woke up? It made no sense - how one day in thousands could change everything. But it had. Nearly seventeen years of being alone, of waking up alone, erased in one fell swoop by arms that held her a little too tight, by calves that cocooned her perpetually cold feet in warmth, by a whiskered chin which burrowed into the sensitive skin of her neck, and by a cock that just would _not_ quit… even in sleep.   
  
Refusing to wallow in thoughts of Jax any longer, Tara forced her eyes open and sat up… only to nearly collapse back down into bed again. She felt… wrong. It wasn’t just dizziness. While her head was both cloudy with the dregs of the sedative Jax had given her and heavy with a dull, throbbing pain, it also felt detached… like it was floating above the rest of her body. Speaking of which, Tara’s arms and legs were too loose, ungainly. Movement wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was more difficult than it should have been. She had to explicitly think about her actions. Lift her arms from where they laid in her lap, bend her elbows, curl her hands back towards her face, run her fingers through her messy, tangled hair. Then, the process to drop them back down again was just as segmented and disjointed, just as laborious.   
  
Eventually, Tara managed to stand. Though she swayed on her feet for a moment, a hand lifted and placed flat upon the wall beside her offered balance. Thankfully, Jax must have changed her before putting her to bed the night before, because Tara was wearing a pair of shorts and an old, baggy t-shirt - no bra or underwear, but, when it came to Jax, any coverage at all was a pleasant surprise seeing as how the only thing he liked more than sleeping in the nude was Tara sleeping next to him equally as naked. And Jax had spent the night with her - of that, Tara had no doubt. Maybe he was already gone that morning, but the other side of the bed, his side, was clearly rumpled - the blankets pulled back, the sheets wrinkled, the pillow still displaying the indentation of where his head had rested the night before.   
  
On shaky, newborn colt legs, Tara made her way out of the bedroom and towards the main part of the house. Her mouth was a desert, her breath so bad that Tara could taste its rankness, but she needed coffee first. Then, she would brush her teeth. Sure, coffee would only make her anxiety worse, but so, too, would her inability to put together a coherent thought… let alone an actual plan for how she was going to deal with the latest setback that was her life now.   
  
In the back of Tara’s mind, she found herself hoping that maybe Jax, while not in bed with her, was still in her house. Maybe he was making breakfast, or maybe he was outside, having a smoke. Not only did she want to see for herself that he was alright with everything he had learned the night before, but the reassurance that he was with her and so not out hunting down and confronting his mother would also put her mind at ease. Plus, she just… liked having him close. Even when they were fighting, Tara would rather be with Jax than without. Now that the final wall of misunderstandings and lies about their child was down between them, Tara could no longer deny, at least to herself, how much she needed Jax.  
  
And not just to free their daughter.  
  
Despite her hope, Tara didn’t actually think Jax was still there, so, when she rounded the doorway into the dining room and found a stranger sitting at a card table she did not own, she, in her lack of coordination, shock, and disorientation, almost tripped over her own feet. Even though the man was focused on the screen of his laptop and didn’t look up, he wasn’t distracted enough not to notice her entrance.   
  
“Oh, hey, you’re up.”  
  
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”  
  
“There’s breakfast in the kitchen. Jax told me to pick some up while on my way over, so I stopped by Hunka-Hunka-Bakin’-Love - got some croissants, some bagels, some muffins. Didn’t really know what you’d want. I also stopped by Tig’n’Berries for some fresh fruit, too. Help yourself.” Finally, the Son - because he was wearing his kutte - looked up at Tara, lifting his nearly completely shaved except for the buzzed strip of hair down the center of his skull and tattooed head. “Unless… you want me to get it for you. I can. I mean, I will….” He started to stand, pushing his chair back behind him with a scrape against the wood floor. “Juice!”  
  
The kid - because, despite his age, Tara just couldn’t refer to the biker standing before her in any other way - was sweet, and eager… like a hairless, dopey puppy, and seemingly harmless, but, between her hangover from the sedative, Jax’s absence, the knowledge that Gemma had stolen all the letters and photos Tara had sent him over the years about Natalie, Natty’s seemingly impossible situation given that Tara couldn’t find even a parking violation against Jax and Samcro, and the fact that this newcomer wouldn’t tell her _anything_ , she found herself yelling at him. “No, I don’t want any baked goods, and I don’t want any fruit, and I don’t want any goddamn juice! What I want are some answers! Please. Now.”  
  
“Oh, I didn’t buy any juice,” her apparent babysitter said regretfully - like he had made some egregious error in forgetting that part of his breakfast duties. “I _am_ Juice.” He shrugged his shoulders, threw Tara a wide smile - his previous contrition already forgotten. And then he plopped back down onto his chair and immediately started typing, and clicking, and reading again.   
  
Tara had the sudden urge to a take a rolled up newspaper to him.   
  
“Remind me not to let you near any of my knives.”  
  
Juice’s puzzlement was deep enough that it caused him to pause, look up at her, and cant his head to the side. “What? Why?”  
  
“Oh god, I’m _old_ ,” Tara groused. She then pulled out a chair and sat down across from Juice.   
  
He grinned at her, waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah… Jax’s _old lady_ , you mean.”  
  
“Hardly.” Juice went to say something - his mouth going so far as to open up wide, but Tara didn’t want to hear it. Not only was she still waiting to learn why the younger man was there in the first place, but he seemed to have the attention span of a gnat. If she didn’t have so many other, more pressing concerns to worry about, she’d suggest to Jax that he should have his errand biker put on Ritalin. “Speaking of Jax, where the hell is he?”  
  
He returned to his work… or so Tara assumed. He could have been watching porn for all she knew. But he seemed a little too intent, his actions a little too purposeful. “Don’t know.”  
  
“You don’t know, or you don’t think you should tell me?” A wrinkled brow was the only response she received. “Because, if it’s the latter, Jax never hid things from me before.” And he hadn’t, though Tara had been adamant that she didn’t want to know either.   
  
“Jax didn’t say.” Tara went to push for more, but Juice, without looking, seemed to sense that she wasn’t going to let her line of questioning go, seemed to know what she was going to ask next. “He just said that he’d be back soon, that he had to handle something, and he wanted me to stay here in case you woke up while he was gone. Oh,” he exclaimed in recollection, peering up at Tara over the top of his laptop. “He also said you should take the day off.”  
  
“Like hell I will!” Standing, Tara started to pace, biting on her right thumb nail. Briefly, she worried about what she had on… or, more accurately, what she _didn’t_ , but Juice seemed too preoccupied with whatever it was he saw on his computer screen and too deferential towards Jax to ever look at her _like that_. So, she let the concern fall to the wayside in favor of telling the biker exactly what she thought of his president’s high-handed, chauvinistic bullshit. “I have _never_ allowed Jax Teller to tell me what to do, and I’m sure as hell not about to start now!”  
  
“I can’t believe you and Jax have a sixteen year old daughter. I bet she’s _fun_! And hot.” Juice looked up at her incredulous, irritated face with what could only be described as keen interest. So much for his deference. Apparently, it only extended to baby mamas, not babies. “Is she hot?”  
  
Suddenly suspicious - what _was_ Juice doing on his computer, why did Jax call him of all the Samcro members - someone Tara didn’t know and had never even heard of before when he knew she would have been more comfortable with someone who she was actually familiar with, and why was this stranger asking her about her daughter, Tara rounded the table quickly - too quickly for Juice to realize what she was doing. What she saw on the laptop’s screen cleared her head of any remaining fog from the sedative better than coffee ever could have, and it turned the blood in her veins into liquid fire.   
  
“You’re digging into my life, into my _daughter’s_ life,” Tara accused, reaching for and lifting the laptop off the card table before Juice could defend himself. “Did Jax put you up to this?” Again, she didn’t let the biker respond. “Of course he did! You flunkies don’t wipe your ass without your president’s approval first. Besides, you wouldn’t even know about Natty, or me, or how we were connected to Jax unless he told you.”  
  
“Well, actually, we’ve all known about you for years. Tara Knowles is a legend in Samcro. And, when you came back into town, Jax made it clear in no uncertain terms that you were still his - always was, always will be.”  
  
Still holding the laptop away from Juice’s outstretched and demanding arms, Tara ranted, “goddamn you, Jax! He leaves me here with you - someone I do not know and, now, do not trust, and tells you to _hack_ into my life, into _our daughter’s_ life, and he just runs off without any explanation or discussion. So, I don’t know where he went, what he’s doing, what he’s screwing up, and there’s _nothing_ I can do about it, because you can’t or won’t tell me anything!”  
  
“Tara… can I call you Tara? Maybe I should call you Ms. Knowles. Or Doctor Knowles. Whatever you prefer. But, however I should address you, can you please just… give me back my computer?” Juice reached for the laptop then, but Tara whipped it further away. “Or… you can just set it down. I think you should put it down before….”  
  
“No,” Tara declined emphatically. When Juice tried once again to grab the electronic device from her, Tara reached her limit. If he wasn’t going to back down on his own, then she’d make him back down. Hurling the laptop at the wall with every last ounce of strength she had in her arms, Tara watched in satisfaction as the computer erupted into dozens of little pieces. Momentarily quite pleased with herself, she turned towards the younger man whose mouth was hanging open in soundless hysteria. “If Jax wants to know about me, our daughter, or our life together, then he’s going to have to grow a pair of fucking balls and ask me himself.”  
  
“Well, shit,” Juice lamented forlornly. “That’s going to set me back.” Made curious by the biker’s reaction… or, really, his lack of one, Tara inclined her head in his direction, quirking an inquisitive brow. “I mean, I have insurance. What competent, legit PI doesn’t? But, still, it’ll take me a day or two to arrange for a new computer and get it set up to my specifications and requirements.”  
  
“Well, then, I guess you should get started on that, shouldn’t you?” When he didn’t move, when he didn’t leave, or gather his stuff, or even respond, Tara bluntly ordered, “get the hell out of my house, Juice.”  
  
Tara could see the MC member struggle with what he should do. Should he listen to Jax, his president, and stay until he was relieved, or should he follow her command and, if he had any, his self-preservation instincts and leave? Though he did so with obvious misgivings… and without taking anything with him, Juice did eventually leave… with Tara following him to her front door where she watched him walk down her sidewalk, cross over her driveway, and cut through some of her lawn before climbing into the most bland, basic, and forgettable American-made sedan one could possibly buy, a car perfect for a PI.   
  
Unfortunately, her SUV was nowhere to be found. While Jax must have had it parked on the street the night before… and that’s why she didn’t notice it in her distraction when the taxi dropped her off, it was now gone again. Apparently, Jax had taken it that morning… which meant Tara needed to call yet another cab. Despite Jax’s _suggestion_ , she _was_ going to work. Before she made her way to St. Thomas, however, Tara had an errand to run. If Jax wasn’t going to provide her with the information on Samcro that she needed to appease Kohn and set Natty free, then Tara would find someone else to help her.  
  
And she had just the man in mind.

 

**B.**

Tara was no stranger to the Charming police department… as she had recently admitted to her daughter, though not nearly to the extent that she might have if Unser hadn’t been so forgiving, but she had never before seen it so quiet, so efficient, so empty.  
  
For a town of Charming’s small size, it had an inordinately large criminal element. Not only was it the headquarters of the Sons of Anarchy’s founding charter, Samcro, but, for as long as Tara could remember, it was also home to Darby’s band of misfit racists, the Nords, and, occasionally, the Mayans - a larger, hispanic MC with deep connections to drug cartels - would ride through town as well, bringing their own brand of mayhem and destruction, especially when they clashed with the hometown outlaws. Add on top of that the regular, run of the mill small town misdemeanors and petty crimes, and Charming PD certainly earned their paychecks.   
  
It didn’t help matters that Wayne Unser, Samcro’s faithful friend and enabler, had been chief of police for so long either. While Unser’s connections to the Sons had worked in Tara’s favor as a teenager, she wasn’t blind to his faults as an officer of the law. Not only was he dirty, but he was disorganized, prone to laziness, and, while certainly not his fault, sickly. It might not have been cancer when Tara was growing up in Charming, but it was always something. So, there was the possibility that the changes in the precinct were because of the change at the top, but it just didn’t seem realistic to think that one man - even one as dedicated to the job and as proficient at following the law as David Hale - could make that much of a difference. Plus, with the current steep downward trend of Tara’s luck, she had a sneaking suspicion she already knew what the main difference was.  
  
More had changed in Charming than just who was the chief of police. A lot more.  
  
With his secretary eyebrows deep in a gossip magazine, Tara was able to slip by unvetted and unannounced to knock on David Hale’s office door. When he looked up, she asked, “have a few minutes for an old friend?”  
  
“I don’t know. Is that what you are?”  
  
Tara winced. “I deserve that.” Not only had she ignored Hale that day outside of the post office, but they’d never been particularly close. David had always liked Tara, been nice to her despite her drunk daddy and poor, white trash status in comparison to his judge daddy and affluent background, but, even before he was a cop, he was the law, and she was Jax Teller, the prince of Samcro’s, girl. The two should not and did not mix. “And I’m sorry. There’s some stuff that I’m dealing with right now, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”  
  
Graciously, Hale said, “apology accepted.” Tara took that as the invitation it was to enter his office, sitting down in a chair across from him. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, Tara….”  
  
“That’s not why I’m here.”  
  
“That’s also not a denial,” he countered.  
  
“If it comes to the point where I need law enforcement help, you’re the first person I’ll come to,” Tara promised. And she wasn’t lying. Although she initially felt like she needed to stay away from David so that he wouldn’t learn about Kohn and blow her secrets and plan out of the water, Tara’s life had pretty much become a tsunami since returning to Charming. She wasn’t even sure if there was any water left, and beggars couldn’t be choosers… even when those asking for help had a well-honed aversion to cops.   
  
“And if you need help outside of the law?”  
  
“That’s kind of why I’m here,” Tara admitted. She could see the curiosity and warriness on her old classmate’s tanned and hardened face. “What the hell is going on around here?”  
  
Hale had been leaning back, but, at Tara’s heated question, he sat forward quickly, his chair squeaking. “What do you mean?” She had worried him, probably made him think there was something illegal happening underneath his nose, and he was none the wiser.   
  
“I spent my morning with a sweet, stupid, perverted puppy called Juice who, obviously, is too young and simple to grasp an OJ Simpson reference despite their shared nickname. Is he who now passes around here for an outlaw biker?”  
  
“Well, when he’s not driving around his PI-mobile, Juice owns and rides a Harley, so, yeah, I guess so.”  
  
“And then there’s TM,” Tara continued as if David had not spoken. “ _Teller Motors_. What the hell happened to the Morrow? And it’s a _showplace_ now - not a reaper, a cro-eater, or even a cigarette butt in sight. And have you seen their fence… with all those seemingly legitimate business advertisements?”  
  
Hale sighed… as though pained to admit what was about to come out of his mouth. “They actually are legitimate, Tara. While I would certainly be the last one to tell you that Samcro has entirely lost its bite - the whole town knows that, if requested, Bobby will throw a little bud in his brownies, and Chibs has never met a fake ID that he didn’t like, you’ve been gone for seventeen years. _A lot_ has changed.”  
  
Tara couldn’t contain her desperation and disquiet any longer, so she stood up and started restlessly pacing the length of the small office. “It’s not just Samcro, though, David. I’ve been back in town for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve yet to see a swastika tattoo or ape hangers. And I’ve seen St. Thomas’ numbers. Overdoses, drug related preemies, and gun trauma are all down. Drastically.” Tara stopped abruptly and faced the police chief. “Has everyone just gotten better at hiding their illegal activities or am I missing something?”  
  
“You’re missing a lot, Tara.” And then David snorted, rolling his eyes at Tara’s expense. “So, I guess you and Jax have fallen back into old habits - still screwing each others brains out too much to actually talk?”  
  
Reflexively, Tara refuted, “it’s not like that. We’re not….”  
  
“Save it,” Hale interrupted her. “Jax already read me the riot act: ‘stay away from Tara; Tara’s mine.’ Same story, different decade.”  
  
Without meeting his gaze, she admitted, “it’s… complicated.”  
  
“Always is with you two.” That earned the police chief a scathing glare. “Look, I’m reluctant to tell you anything that will push you closer to Jax, because you actually managed to get out, but, Tara, I won’t lie to you either.”  
  
“I appreciate that.”  
  
Catching her off guard, Hale asked her, “how much do you know about Jax’s son, Abel?”  
  
“I know everything.” Tara couldn’t help the small spark of smugness that entered her voice, not after how judgemental David was towards her past - and present - with Jax. “We _talked_ about him.”  
  
David did not rise to the bait. “What I doubt Jax told you was that, after Wendy overdosed for the second time while still in the hospital, he worked with me to make sure that she was charged for Abel’s death and sentenced to prison. Plus, after beating the shit out of the Nord who sold Wendy the crank, including stabbing a broken pool cue through one of the dealer’s testicles, Jax let me handle Darby and his guys. His entire operation was dismantled. Those who survived went to prison; those who didn’t, well…. My conscious is clear.”  
  
“And the club just… allowed this?”  
  
“Things were tense,” Hale admitted, steepling his fingers underneath his chin while recollecting the events of five years prior. “Awkward. But there was something else going on with Jax - something more than just Abel’s death. I think it had something to do with his father. He seemed… disillusioned about Samcro, like it wasn’t what he thought it should be.”  
  
“John’s manuscript,” Tara breathed out in realization.  
  
“I have no idea. Maybe. But I didn’t care what it was, because I was finally getting somewhere in making some real changes around here.”  
  
“But there’s more, right,” Tara pressed the police chief. “Jax told me some bad shit went down after Abel’s death.”  
  
“About a month later, Piney made arrangements for the Sons to sell guns to two old war buddies of his. They used those guns to stop a prison transport, killed an officer in the process. That brought the ATF down hard on Samcro. But there was only circumstantial evidence, so the agent in charge focused her investigation elsewhere. Opie was just out of a five year stint in Chino. His marriage was a little rocky.”  
  
“Understandably,” Tara interjected. The remark wasn’t necessary, but she had an idea where Hale’s story was going - after all, she had first run into Ope at the cemetery where he was visiting his wife’s grave, and any delay was welcome.  
  
“Opie refused to rat, and Donna wouldn’t roll either, but the damage had already been done. It was too late. Clay gave Tig the order to kill Ope, but Donna was driving his truck when the hit went down, and an innocent mother of two was murdered instead.”  
  
“Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Again, Jax worked with me to try and figure out what happened. We had our suspicions that Clay was behind it but no proof. Even after Tig, half out of his mind from remorse, confessed to Opie the truth, I couldn’t press charges. Jax gave me the courtesy of telling me what had happened but informed me that it was a club matter. I didn’t stand in his way.” And David didn’t back down from his confession either, owning it and, apparently, not regretting it. “For years, I had ridiculed Unser for being Samcro’s lapdog, and there I was, turning a blind eye to a man’s murder. The fact that it was for Donna helped. I had always liked her. She was sweet, a good mother. But I also realized that things weren’t as black and white as I’d like them to be.  
  
“So, anyway,” Tara’s former classmate returned to his recitation of the past. “As far as I’ve been able to piece together, Opie took the matter to the club, made Tig admit what he had done on Clay’s orders to all of the other members. I’m sure Clay denied it, but, after those old bones were found out on Highway 44, and, outside of Clay and Gemma’s sphere of influence, there had always been rumors….”  
  
For the first time during their conversation, Tara was genuinely confused. “Wait, what rumors?”  
  
“Oh,” Hale breathed out in surprise. “Because you and Gemma never got along, I always assumed you knew.”  
  
“Knew what?”  
  
“It was pretty common knowledge that Clay and Gemma were sleeping together long before John’s death… which in and of itself was suspicious, because no one was a better rider than John Teller, and the weather did not play a factor in his accident. Then, when Teller-Morrow’s best mechanic disappeared a week later, it raised some eyebrows. He was a piece of shit, though, so most people were just glad to see him leave, but the timing was always shady, especially when those bones were dug up years later, and one of the skeletons belonged to Lowell Harland Sr. He had been murdered, took three bullets to the head.”  
  
“So, you assumed that Clay… and maybe Gemma… had John killed, so they could control the Sons?”  
  
“It’s not what I assumed; it’s what the club assumed, and, seeing as how, shortly after Donna’s death, Clay vanished, I’d say it’s a pretty good bet that he paid for more than one crime.”  
  
Tara nodded, feeling a sense of satisfaction at Clay Morrow’s end. “He met Mr. Mayhem.”  
  
Hale held up his hands in capitulation. “Hey, I’ll take your word for it. The less I know about the inner workings of the Sons, the better.”  
  
“So, then, what happened next?” Tara found herself sitting on the edge of her seat, and she didn’t care who knew it. David couldn’t know why she was so interested, why his recollections of the recent past meant so much to her, but she’d let him draw his own conclusions. As long as those conclusions didn’t include Natty, he could believe whatever he wanted. “I’m assuming Jax became president of Samcro?”  
  
“Yep. Opie was voted in as his V.P., and, after Tig was stripped of his Sergeant at Arms patch for his role in Donna’s death, it was given to Chibs.”  
  
“Tig’s still alive?”  
  
“Apparently, since he was just the trigger man, he only received a demotion. I imagine Tig rolling on Clay played a part in his surviving Samcro cleaning up their clubhouse, too. Plus, he and Gemma got married soon after Clay’s death.”  
  
With a roll of her green eyes, Tara snarked, “you mean Gemma’s actually married to someone who’s _not_ the president of Samcro?”  
  
“Well, she couldn’t very well marry her own son now, could she?”  
  
Tara snorted in contempt. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” Hale’s smirk was the only response he needed to give, because Tara could clearly read his knowing gaze. It said that, evidently, her relationship with Jax wasn’t the only one unchanged by time and space. Letting the moment and the hostility go… at least temporarily, Tara asked, “once Jax became president, things just changed overnight?”  
  
“Pretty much,” David told her. “I mean, it wasn’t a smooth or easy transition by any means. Around that time, a new player came to town: the League of American Nationalists.”  
  
“So, you got rid of one white separatist group in exchange for another?”  
  
“Only the League was worse,” Hale easily confided. “Their first act in Charming was to have Gemma gang raped.” Tara gasped. Maybe she hated Gemma with an intensity that scared her, but she would not wish that - _never that_ \- on anyone. After giving her a minute to absorb his reveal, the police chief continued, “she and Unser tried to cover it up at first, and then Gemma tried to use it to push the Sons back into guns, but, eventually, the truth came out. While their relationship has never been the same since the reveal that Clay had John killed, I think this did serve to mend some of the bridges between Jax and his mother.” Bridges that, by Tara finally telling Jax about their daughter, would probably crumble once again. “In the end, it was revealed that the local leader of the League was an FBI informant, but, with the Sons already out of guns, there wasn’t really anything for him to inform on. Plus, once again, Jax… and even some of the other members of Samcro... worked with me to get the League out of Charming.”  
  
“And all of the businesses,” Tara questioned, still not understanding how they came to be.   
  
“After Jax took Samcro out of guns, they had to earn somehow,” David explained. “First, they went into porn.”  
  
Tara scoffed. “Of course they did.”  
  
“While not a career path I would recommend, it did serve as a pretty good transition for the rest of the guys in Samcro,” Hale granted. “They were operating a legal business, but it still had that sleaze factor so many of them believed an MC needed. But it proved to be an even bigger hassle than guns, so Jax sold his interests and invested them in fixing up TM and adding the dealership. Then, with those profits, he helped all the other guys open up legitimate businesses as well. Because Jax retains a percentage of every business he invests in, he’s become quite the entrepreneur, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He keeps a low profile; donates a lot of it to the hospital, though I’m not supposed to know that, so don’t say anything; and lives a pretty simple life… all things considered. For example, I know you’ve seen his house.” While Tara might have blushed, she didn’t verbally acknowledge the cop’s remark. “It’s the same one he bought when he was briefly married to Wendy all those years ago.”  
  
Needing to get them back on track and starting to feel her desperation creep back up on her, Tara agitatedly asked, “but what about all of the organizations the Sons used to do business with?”  
  
“Exactly. They _used to_. Without Samcro pulling the Mayans, and the One-Niners, and the Triad, and who knows who else into Charming, things around here have become a lot safer. And quieter. Plus, after Abel, Jax doesn’t tolerate hard drugs in or around the club, so, if someone doesn’t get the memo that Charming is off limits, he gets rid of them before I even know they’re here.” Sitting forward in her chair, because Tara thought this might be the one thing she could still use in Natalie’s favor, those hopes were dashed when David continued, “But even those guys are small timers. I don’t know how Jax did it, and, frankly, I don’t want to know, but he managed to get the Sons out of guns, broker deals to satisfy all their former allies _and_ rivals, _and_ stay on good terms with them. We’re closing in on three years now that the Sons have been clean… or, at least, as clean as a bunch of former outlaws can be. But I’ll take it. And so will Charming.”  
  
While nothing Hale said could be taken as an overt warning, Tara could hear the subtext. He did not want her return to disturb the calm. She was already stirring up shit with Jax, dragging him, who, for half a decade, had managed to find a pretty good working relationship with the Samcro president, into it... and who knew who else. He told her what she wanted to know, but, now, she needed to let the past lie. David also made it clear that their conversation was over, though he waited for her to acknowledge this by standing before he joined her on his feet, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Despite everything, it really is nice to have you back, Tara. And remember my offer… if you decide you need help with whatever it is you’re going through right now.”  
  
“I will.” Tara wished that she could say the same - that she was glad to be back, too, because Jax had accomplished everything with the club that she had never dared to even hope for, yet, due to the circumstances surrounding her return, Tara couldn’t be as pleased by the changes as she wanted to be or as delighted to be back as she otherwise would have been. Yet, even with her dismay over Natalie’s situation and her utter lack of even a single lead to chase down for Kohn, Tara couldn’t _not_ feel an immense and overwhelming surge of pride, and joy, and love for Jax. “And thanks,” she offered with a smile she hoped hid her panic and desolation, “for everything.”  
  
With a slight wave over her shoulder, Tara left Police Chief David Hale’s office and the Charming Police Department.

 


	10. Part IV - C and D

**C.**

Tara was working.  
  
Somehow, someway - and Tara sure as hell couldn’t explain it, she was making rounds, and reviewing patients’ charts, and giving instructions to her staff members, and considering personnel files, and looking at test results, and making treatment decisions, and speaking to the families of her patients. And, whenever she happened to walk by a phone, she’d dial out to a cell phone number she never could have dreamed that she’d have memorized. But Kohn wasn’t answering. Tara didn’t have to question if that was a good or bad thing; she knew it was bad. She just didn’t know _how_ bad or why it would inevitably come back to haunt and hurt Natalie just that much more.  
  
“I thought I told you to take the day off?”  
  
Finishing her notes first, Tara took her time to save the changes to the chart she was looking at and putting the iPad to sleep before pivoting in her tennis shoes to confront the aggravated… and aggravating… father of her only child. Jax was obviously spoiling for a fight, but if he thought she would give him one in the middle of St. Thomas’ post-op wing, he was going to be sorely disappointed. “The last time I checked, you were not my employer, and, until you are, I don’t plan on taking orders from you.”  
  
Legs braced apart and arms folded over his chest - and, this time, Jax _was_ wearing his kutte, he sneered, “yeah, I’d like to meet the person - boss or no boss - who could ever get you to actually listen.”  
  
“There’s a whole department of professors at Loyola Medical School who would be more than happy to attest to my ability to follow directions. Feel free to take a trip to Chicago to speak with them anytime, Jax. Now, if you will excuse me,” Tara dismissed herself… and him, too, for that matter.   
  
But she didn’t manage to take a single step before Jax was firing back at her, obviously uncaring that she was at work or that they were already starting to draw an audience. “And why the hell did you break Juice’s laptop?”  
  
Instead of responding, instead of dignifying his inquiry or presence with even another snarky remark, Tara walked away, ignoring him and hoping that he would just leave. Even if she couldn’t put him off forever, the longer she could stall and buy herself some more time, the better. “Hey, I asked you a question, Tara!”  
  
“And this is me ignoring you and your question, so take a hint, Jax, and go home. This is not the time nor the place, and I need to work.”  
  
With enough force to stop her forward momentum but never enough to hurt her, Jax grabbed Tara by the elbow and curved her around to face him. “No, what you need to do is stop running and answer my damn questions.”  
  
_That_ touched a raw nerve. Running was Tara’s MO. She would own that. She emotionally ran away from confrontation with Jax when they were younger until the point where she physically ran 2,000 miles away from him while he was gone on a club job. Now, nearly seventeen years later, she finally ran back to him… only to find out that what she was running towards didn’t exist any longer, and she couldn’t even be mad at him for it, because Jax, Samcro, and the Sons successful and safe is all she had ever wanted for him. But that didn’t mean she would just take his judgement and attitude laying down without fighting back. “Do you really want to go there, because, this morning, you were the one who left me!”  
  
“Babe, you might physically be here, but the only time you’re actually _with_ me and not mentally running back to Chicago is when I’m inside of you,” Jax fired back. “And, besides, at least I didn’t take our daughter with me!”  
  
Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she hissed, “we are not having this conversation here!”  
  
Tara started off towards her office which was on the other side of the third floor, Jax shadowing her every step. “Why not?”  
  
Through gritted teeth and with a hushed voice, she said, “because we do not need all of Charming knowing our business, that’s why.”  
  
“Frankly, Tara, I don’t give a shit who knows that we have a kid together. You’re keeping enough secrets right now as it is. Our daughter has been your biggest secret, though, for seventeen years. I think that’s long enough, don’t you?”  
  
No one got away with questioning her ability as a mother - not even Jax. “Natalie has _never_ been _my_ secret, Jax! That’s your mother’s burden to bear, not mine.”  
  
“No, there’s something else going on here,” Jax challenged her. He also backed her into a corner - literally, so that she couldn’t get away without going through him first. They had been walking through the NICU and nursery lobby and by the nurses’ station on their way to the hallway that would take them to the privacy of Tara’s office and a closed door when Jax skirted around her, blocking her path and caging her in with his body. “This isn’t about you being pissed at Gemma because she scared you off and then kept all your letters from me.” When Tara opened her mouth to object, Jax amended, “I’m not saying that you’re not mad - and, trust me, no one is angrier with her than I am, but it’s more than that. You had a goddamn panic attack last night when I went to confront her; I had to sedate you!”  
  
“But then you went and confronted her anyway despite knowing how I felt about it, and I woke up alone. No, not alone,” Tara clarified. “With Juice.” In that moment, she wanted to hit him so badly that she had to clench her free hand at her side and hug the iPad to her breast in order to not raise them to his leather and cotton clad chest and pound her fists against him as hard as she could. “You sent a stranger into my house to manage me… like some fucking obligation, like an inconvenience. And, not only that, but you told him to _investigate_ me _and_ our daughter!”  
  
“How else am I supposed to find out what the hell is going on here?”  
  
“You. Ask. Me.” To emphasize her point, Tara jabbed her right index finger into her sternum as she spoke.  
  
Jax tossed his arms up into the air in exasperation. “What the hell do you think I’m doing right now, Tara?!” Before she could reply, he barrelled onward. “Alright, fine, here’s an easy one for you: we have a daughter, right, so where the fuck is she?”  
  
She couldn’t look at him anymore. It hurt too much. So, Tara lowered her eyes, stared at the toes of her shoes, scuffing them against the tile floor, and responded softly, “I can’t tell you that.”  
  
Riled and resentful, Jax spun around and paced away from a recoiling Tara. He reached up to run his hands through his hair before seemingly remembering that it was short now, and so he harshly rubbed his skull instead. After several seconds, he stopped, looking over his shoulder at her as he asked, “does this - you... and how you’ve been acting since you got back here - have something to do with the guy who _was_ stalking you? I wasn’t going to say anything, because I didn’t want to make it any worse, but it’s been handled now, Babe; he’s been handled. That’s where I went this morning, not Gemma’s.”  
  
Tara started shaking so badly that she dropped the iPad. Distantly, she was aware that one of the nurses called out her name, reprimanding her maladroitness. Jax, too, despite his physical nearness, was far away. A part of Tara recognized that he was yelling at the nurse to “back the fuck off” and to “leave her alone,” but it was the cicadas on a hot, summer night, the moving blades and softly whining motor of a ceiling fan. Tara felt nothing. She saw nothing. All she heard was _he’s been handled_ on a loop in her mind. She thought about how many times she had called Kohn that day, needing to speak with him about how she was supposed to provide him with proof of Samcro’s illegal activities when there was none; was she just supposed to manufacture evidence of gun trafficking? _He’s been handled, he’s been handled, he’s been handled.  
  
_ “Is he dead?”  
  
She must have murmured her thoughts loud enough for Jax to hear something but not loud enough for him to comprehend. He approached her, wrapped his arms underneath her own by cupping her elbows. “Babe, I didn’t hear…?”  
  
She wrenched away from him so roughly that her steps nearly faltered. Meeting his worried gaze - all of the aggression had been replaced, Tara enunciated tightly. “Is. He. Fucking. Dead. Jackson?”  
  
“What? No! Of course not,” he defended himself. Underneath Tara’s choked sob of relief, she detected a note of hurt to Jax’s voice, but she couldn’t worry about that then. Plus, she wasn’t sure if he would be so insulted if he knew the whole story about Joshua Kohn. “I roughed him up a little, made it clear to him that he better stay away from you, but then I physically removed him from town - bruised, a little bloodied, but definitely still alive.” Misinterpreting her concern, Jax argued his reasons for doing as such. “I’ve caught him watching you several times now, Babe. At first, I thought maybe he didn’t know any better - like there was something wrong with him. But then I kept seeing him, and he had no shame, no compunction. And, then, when Juice found the restraining order, I realized that….”  
  
The shrill ring of Tara’s cell interrupted him and made her jump. With fingers still trembling - a first for the surgeon, she reached into the right front pocket of her lab coat to retrieve her iPhone. It was the impetus she needed to finally step away from Jax… though he followed her, to finally leave the lobby for the partial privacy of the hallway off to the side. Before answering the call, Tara glance at the display, her heart sinking further when she saw that it was Natty’s lawyer calling. When she accepted the call, she didn’t offer a greeting. She couldn’t. She just listened, waiting for what was inevitably going to be bad news and hoping that it wouldn’t, couldn’t be the _worst_ news.   
  
“Dr. Knowles, I’m sorry to call you while I know you’re at work, but I was just informed of a new development in Jacqueline’s case, and I knew you would want to be apprised right away.” When Tara didn’t respond, the attorney queried, “Dr. Knowles?”  
  
“Yes.” _Yes, she wanted to know. Yes, she was there._  
  
“The ATF has submitted evidence of your interaction with individuals known to have criminal connections. It was argued that, because of this, your visits to your daughter could actually be meetings to pass along information and further her illegal agenda. Therefore, Jacqueline has lost all visitation privileges. I’ve already filed a motion to argue against this decision, but I don’t have much faith it’ll work. Without our own evidence to counter….”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Tara gasped, sobbed, cut off the lawyer. “I can’t… right now. I just… can’t.” She ended the call. She stoically put the phone back in her pocket. And then she just… stood there.   
  
“Tara?”  
  
The tenderness of Jax’s voice was the final push she needed. Looking up from the nothingness of her blurred vision, Tara met and stared into his changeable blue gaze. “His name is Joshua Kohn. He’s an ATF agent who, six weeks ago, set our daughter up as an arms dealer. Natalie is in an Illinois federal prison. You can’t confront your mother, because, if she went to those lengths to prevent you from knowing you had a daughter, I’m afraid of what she will do if she discovers there’s a way she can keep you from Natalie forever. I broke Juice’s laptop, because I couldn’t let you find out about this, not when I still thought there was even the slightest chance of fixing it. And I’m telling you now, because… there isn’t.”  
  
Without saying a word, Jax lifted Tara up, cradled her in his arms, nudged her face into the crook of his neck, and carried her out of the hospital.

 

**D.**

Tara woke with a silent start, a suffocating gasp caught in her arid throat.   
  
_She’d called out for him.  
  
Though just nineteen and a first time mom, Tara hadn’t been naive to the realities of child labor. Not only was she pre-med, but she was on her own. For Tara, that meant research, and more research, and even more research so that she would feel prepared for what she would face alone. She’d been prepared for the pain - like her body was being split apart down the middle only to be sewn back together with a rusty, thick needle without anesthesia and then ripped apart again over and over and over. She’d been prepared for the pity, for the disdain towards her less than ideal situation. And Tara had known that she’d feel the absence of her own mother keenly the day that she became a mom herself. What she hadn’t been ready for was the urgency and desperation of her want, her need, for the father of her child.   
  
At first it had been just quiet tears - his name held against her tongue, scalding her mouth. But then it wasn’t just contractions, and she was actually pushing, and the doctor was announcing that she saw the head, and those restrained prayers became open sobs, became begging whimpers and bargaining lamentations.   
  
_ I want Jax.  
  
I need Jax.   
  
Please, get me Jax.  
  
Has Jax called?  
  
Did Jax come?  
  
Please, Jax, please!  
  
Jax.  
  
Jax!  
  
JAX!  
_  
He never called. He didn’t come.  
  
And, now, Tara laid in her too empty hospital bed - alone, her daughter, Jax’s daughter, in a bassinet beside her. It was the middle of the night. She should have been sleeping, taking advantage of her newborn’s peaceful rest while she could, but the hospital was quieter than its reputation, and the curtains were drawn, so the room was darker than anywhere or anything besides a grave had a right to be. Even in small town Charming, Tara had never seen dark this thick, this yawning, so bottomless. When she and Jax went riding, they always had the moon and stars. When she stayed the night with him, the clubhouse was its dimmest during the deepest hours of the day, not night; and, when he stayed with her, they kept the window open to the street lights and the low beams of passing cars for his easy access… both coming and going. But Jax wouldn’t be climbing over her windowsill and into her bed with her that night, and the realization was harder to accept than the five months they had already been apart should have made it.   
  
She wanted to go back to the moment when their baby - Jacqueline Natalie Teller - was placed naked, and bloody, and squalling on her chest, when thoughts of Jax were temporarily replaced with fears of another Teller boy. _ Her heart _, Tara had pressed, had pleaded only for the doctor to promise her that her daughter was perfect. She had her mother’s heart and her father’s everything else, and Tara wouldn’t have had it any other way. Maybe she couldn’t have Jax, but he had given her the best part of himself, and, sometimes, Tara felt like it was more than she deserved, though only death would make her give it, give her, up.  
  
Even though Natalie was sleeping, Tara needed the light of her memories and the sounds of her very own personal fairytale to keep the monsters at bay, so, for the first time in what would prove to be too many to count, she told Natty the story of Jax Teller. “Your daddy loves you very much, baby girl - an amount so infinite that it cannot be measured, and I know that he’d be here with us right now if he could, but you see, unlike most little girls who grow up dreaming of marrying their prince charming, Mama actually loved and was loved by the actual Prince of Charming. And that love made you. But you see, because your daddy will someday be king of the village of Charming, he’s a very important man there. He helps protect the town, and he has such a big heart; he tries to do as much good as he can as well.   
  
“But not everyone in Charming is like your daddy, sweetheart. There are monsters, too, and these monsters do not understand your daddy or the things that he does, so, sometimes, his life is dangerous. While your daddy is big, and strong, and brave, those bad men… and the fire breathing dragon… scared your mommy, so I left Charming, and you were still inside of me, so you came, too, but it doesn’t matter how far away we go, your daddy will always find you, and he’ll always be there when you need him most, because you’re not just the Prince of Charming’s daughter, Natalie; you’re a princess; you’re _ his _princess.”  
  
_ “It was me for her freedom, right?”  
  
Tara hadn’t realized that Jax had noticed her wake. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. It had always been like that between them. While she wasn’t sure if it was his elemental awareness of her or if it was her own body’s innate sense of his wanting of her, so, when she roused from slumber, she found him waiting, watching, wanting, but that constant - even after nearly seventeen years - was the first moment of comfort Tara had experienced since leaving her daughter the afternoon before. And, now, given his question, she had an opportunity to return that solace. “I’m so sorry, Jax.”  
  
“No,” he looked up from his computer, from his desk. He was wearing glasses. The reminder that, though in her eyes he was still her beautiful, sweet sunshine boy, Jax, too, had changed, aged, matured was another unintentional reassurance on his part. “You did what you had to do.” Standing, he crossed the room to come and sit on the couch next to her, though he made sure he didn’t touch her. It was like he wasn’t sure if Tara wanted his touch… which had never been the case between them. Even when they were fighting and she tried to push him away, Tara only had the strength of will to do so because she knew it would end up pulling him just that much closer. Plus, glancing down at the Samcro t-shirt she wore, his t-shirt, she knew that, after he had carried her nearly comatose form up into what looked like some kind of office - she remembered stairs but that was all, he must have changed her, too - made her comfortable on his leather couch and tucked her underneath a reaper blanket which smelled like him… all smoke, and sin, and sweat, and simple soap. “You did the right thing.”  
  
“Yeah, but it was all for nothing.” Tara paused, looked away from him to blink back her tears. She realized that they must be in the new clubhouse, though Jax’s space there was nothing like his old bunkroom. The din of conversation, of music, of laughter, of drinks being slammed down on the bar, of pool cues hitting pool balls, of revelry was buffered by the study’s walls but not dimmed completely. Swallowing her emotions, she admitted, “I lied to you, Jax, used you, stole your father’s manuscript from you.”  
  
“That was in my safe.”  
  
“And it still is. I put it back the morning after I… spent the night. As for the combination, you’ve used the same one since we were sixteen. I haven’t forgotten anything about you, Jackson Teller.” Lifting a hand that was steady once again, Tara ran her right index finger along the arms of his glasses, under the left lense. “These are new, though.”  
  
“Oh,” Jax uttered, obviously bewildered by her attentions. He slipped the glasses off, tossed them onto the coffee table positioned in front of them. “I forgot I still had them on.”  
  
“I like them.” And then he blushed - her badass biker, her rebel, her anarchist outlaw. Tara took pity on him and changed the subject. “Where are we by the way?” Before Jax could respond, she clarified, “I realize this is the clubhouse, but _where_ exactly is that now? I couldn’t figure it out when I was… trying to get Natty out of trouble.”  
  
“It’s called Sack-It-To-Me. It’s a gym. Half Sack, our youngest member, got his nickname, the injury which inspired it, and a lightweight boxing title while in the Army, so, when Lumpy wanted to retire, we bought his old place, fixed it up, expanded it, and, eventually, we moved the clubhouse above the gym as well. At first, we had it above Chibs’ bar, but that proved bad for business. The gym had plenty of space, and the reminder to some of the guys that bending over to check the air pressure in their tires was not actually exercise was a bonus, too.   
  
“It’s much more private than the old clubhouse, so I thought it’d be more inconspicuous than either of our houses if Kohn ignored my warning and came back into town. Plus, there’s half a dozen Sons between us and the only entrance into this place.” Apparently, Jax could hold himself back from her no longer, because, as he resituated his hips - lifting them only to settle back down deeper into the cushions, he slipped a large, warm, intimately possessive palm below the blanket and placed it high on her right thigh, his blunt, calloused fingers brushing under the hem of his t-shirt she wore. “You’re safe here, Babe.”  
  
She gave him a wistful smile - appreciating his concern but lamenting it was necessary and wishing he could offer the same security to their daughter. “But Nats isn’t.”  
  
Without missing a beat, Jax said, “I’m working on that, too. But, first, I need you tell me everything. Start at the beginning,” he requested of her. “Go back to when you first met Kohn.”  
  
“Right after Nats turned sixteen, she became near-on crazed with the idea that I should go on a date.”  
  
Before Tara could say any more, Jax groused, “my daughter and I will be having a little conversation about that.”  
  
The sheer conviction in Jax’s tone that such a thing would be possible gave Tara the courage to appreciate a moment of levity with the father of her child. “When she’s really in trouble, I call her by her full name: Jacqueline Natalie Teller.”  
  
“Oh, man, she must really hate me.” Despite what he said, there was a broad, vainglorious grin stretching his mouth and making his eyes crinkle.   
  
“Actually, she idolizes you.” At his stunned look, Tara explained, “it started the night she was born when I told her the story of her father, the Prince of Charming. It was her favorite bedtime story growing up. I was determined that, if you decided you wanted to be a part of our daughter’s life someday, she wouldn’t hate or resent you… even if I had to take all of the blame for us not being together as a family onto myself.”  
  
“And your relationship with Natalie?”  
  
“We’re good,” she answered him sincerely, smiling softly.  
  
“Good.” Jax paused, seemed to gather his thoughts. “I just… if our kid is going to idolize anyone, I want it to be you. The shit you had to go through to raise her on her own _and_ become a surgeon at the same time…? Babe, I’m in fucking awe of you.”  
  
Tara cupped his scruffy jax with her left hand. “What you’ve done here - with the club, with Charming - over the last seventeen years, Jax? It’s no small feat either.”  
  
He held her hand against his face for a beat longer in appreciation, he lowered her palm down to his mouth to kiss it in devotion, and then he lowered their joined hands to his lap in compassion. “So, our daughter decided to pimp you out?”  
  
Tara couldn’t help but laugh at the way Jax returned them to her recollections. “Not exactly. It was a colleague at work who set me up on a blind date, but I probably wouldn’t have caved to the pressure of her wheedling without Natty’s encouragement. If I had known that Josh was ATF, I never would have gone out to dinner with him, but I really did go into that date completely blind, and then I was _blindsided_ by the fact that he knew all about me, you, us, our daughter.” She could already see the previous lightness they had shared being replaced by the fury of Jax’s loathing for Kohn and what he had done and was still doing to to her, to their child, to their family. “Apparently, my coworker’s husband wasn’t as discreet and told Josh my name. That was all it took for him to invade every facet of my life and become fixated on me.  
  
“I left. Before our drinks had even arrived, he was promising me protection against you and swearing that he would keep us safe, that he would take care of us. I declined him and his offer, and I got out of there so fast that I forgot my coat but didn’t care. I went home, and I thought that was the end of it. The next thing I know, he’s showing up at the hospital, lying to my coworkers and telling them that we’re together. I’d go to the grocery store, and he’d be checking out in the lane next to me. Natalie and I would go to the movies, and he’d sit down beside us, apologizing for running late and asking if we wanted Swedish Fish or Mike and Ikes. After I complained to his supervisor for the first time, he shoved me into a wall, ridiculed me for allowing you to control who I loved, and then cried because of what my behavior made him do. It only got worse from that point on. He never became violent with Natty, and I’m grateful for that, but I don’t understand what it was about me, about us, that made him snap.”  
  
“It’s not about you, Babe. He’s just fucking insane.”  
  
Tara nodded, agreeing with him. “Mental imbalance certainly plays a role in what Josh does, but why did it not manifest itself until me?” In an effort to answer her own question, she mused, “he’s older than us by quite a bit. I’d guess that he’s in his early to mid fifties - never married, no kids. His career was his life, but, even so, he never managed to rise any higher than a mere field agent. Sometimes I wonder if all of this is simply because of Josh’s jealousy of you.   
  
“You dropped out of high school, and, yet, look at everything you’ve accomplished. While maybe we weren’t together, I was still very much yours... even 2,000 miles away in Chicago, and we had Natalie, this… amazing, beautiful, remarkable child. You had everything - the success, the respect, the wealth, the woman, the family, the kid that Josh always wanted. Failed relationship after failed relationship, loneliness on top of more loneliness, blind dates that never went any further than the check. And then I came along, and it should have been exactly like all of his other previous setups… only my utter lack of interest and our history together pushed him over the edge.”  
  
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, for, really, the whys and hows of Joshua Kohn didn’t matter; all that did matter was figuring out a way to save their daughter, Tara returned to the recounting of her recent past. “Anyway, when the ATF wouldn’t reel him in, I went to Chicago PD. You do not want to know how many cops I had to talk to before I finally found one who would listen to me. As soon as they all found out Kohn was a fed, they wanted nothing to do with the case. Even if they did believe me, they were more afraid of him, of breaking the rules of their brotherhood, than they were that their refusal to do anything would result in serious injury or even my death. Eventually, though, I was able to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t matter. Because, all that time that I was trying so hard to keep him away from me, Josh was setting up Natalie.”  
  
“Guns. Because of me, my past, Samcro,” Jax murmured regretfully, remorsefully.   
  
“I never blamed you.” He leveled her with a disbelieving look, and she hesitantly admitted, “okay, maybe a part of me resented the fact that, because you never came for us, we were left alone - exposed and vulnerable - to Kohn’s machinations, but I know now that this wasn’t your fault. It was your mother’s.”  
  
“Gemma will get what’s coming to her. That’s a promise, Tara.”  
  
“Quite frankly, I just want her to end up alone. I never want her to meet Natalie, and I want her to know the pain of not having a relationship with her only surviving child and you to know the freedom of being out from underneath your mother’s lies and manipulations.”  
  
“But we can’t deal with Gemma until we deal with Kohn,” Jax reminded her.  
  
“Josh planted the illegal, unmarked guns in her bike’s saddlebags, called in the _anonymous_ tip, and then had her arrested - drug out of class, handcuffed, and manhandled into the back of a police cruiser - at school. Neither of us had any idea what was going on; all we knew was that he was involved somehow, though he’s not officially listed on the case. She was denied bail, and she’s being charged as an adult. After he realized that you and I… reconnected, he spread the story around that the guns she sold were responsible for killing family members of the women she’s locked up with, and, after you confronted him, he had it so that Natty’s visitation was taken away from her, so, now, I can’t even see our baby girl and make sure that she’s okay, that she’s still breathing, that she hasn’t been broken by that fucking place or by him, that she’s still alive.”  
  
“And the only way this all goes away for Natalie is if you give Kohn solid proof, hard evidence, of Samcro’s illegal activities?”  
  
“You know, at this point, I don’t even think that he wants Samcro, Jax; I think he’d take them and all of the Sons, too, for that matter if he could, but this is all about you. And me. He wants to arrest you to prove to me that I made the wrong choice, that he’s the better man.”  
  
Hesitantly… as though afraid of her reaction, Jax asked, “do you trust him, though, to live up to his end of the deal and free _our_ daughter, _my_ kid?”  
  
Tara didn’t answer right away. She really wanted to give his question the measure of thought it deserved. “I… think so. It’s not just about wanting me to think he’s better for me than you; he also wants me to think that he’s the better father for my child - to prove that he could save her when you couldn’t… even if Josh is actually saving Natty from himself.”  
  
Jax flashed her a satisfied, pleased grin. “We can work with this, Babe.”  
  
“How,” she inquired in alarm, pulling her hand still gripped in his away to toss both of her arms up in the air out of disbelief and doubt, gesturing around the room. “You’re legit, Jax; Samcro and the Sons are legit. And, while, under any other circumstances, that would be a dream come true for me, and I’d be moving in all of my shit and all of Nats’ shit into your house… whether you wanted it or not….”  
  
“I want it, Babe,” he stopped her rant with the sweetest, best, most perfect thing he could ever say to her. “I want you. I want you both. With me. As a family. Forever.”  
  
This time, it was her turn to lift his hand and offer him a kiss upon his palm. “But it’s not any of those other circumstances, Jax. You’re magnificently, wonderfully, finally clean, and I need the worst dirt possible on you to get our daughter free.”  
  
“Any old crimes big enough the ATF would already know about and didn’t care to pursue or the statutes of limitations have expired.” Despite the fact that what he was saying did nothing to help them help their daughter, Jax didn’t seem too bothered by what Tara was seeing as their absolute lack of options. Then, he shocked the hell out of her by saying, “I have an idea.” She wanted to know everything. She wanted to kiss him. She could cry in relief. “But, first, we need to arrange for Natalie’s protection on the inside.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is completely finished and edited, so I just have to post it. While I post, I will be working on my next story. I'm not a writer who uses a posting schedule. Rather, new parts will go up as my schedule allows. To give you an idea of how long the story will be, though, it's almost 100,000 words. So, buckle up. More importantly, I hope you enjoy the fic. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> Charlynn


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